


Turn

by evangelinerose



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, F/M, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Language, Romance, Sex, Slow Burn, Substance Abuse, Suicidal Thoughts, Torture, Violence, War Fic, holy crap so much angst, very dark
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-29
Updated: 2020-08-05
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:48:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 93,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22958182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/evangelinerose/pseuds/evangelinerose
Summary: Hogwarts, now controlled by Death Eaters, has become a place of horrors. Draco Malfoy and Y/N have new secrets to keep, a complicated relationship to navigate and, above all: a war to survive. 7th year, Hufflepuff!Reader fic. This is a sequel to Loud Places.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Female Reader, Draco Malfoy/Reader, Draco Malfoy/You, Surprise Side Pairing - Relationship
Comments: 310
Kudos: 786





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> This is a war fic and is going to be very dark. There will be language, large doses of angst, physical and emotional torture, violence, murder, allusions to noncon & some attempts (not graphic, dueling with the intention), themes of genocide, substance abuse, suicidal thoughts, and just general messed up war stuff, as well as sex/smut. I will warn with specifics on each individual chapter as well, in the CHAPTER NOTES at the end (except for this chapter), so if you need them, read them.
> 
> This fic is a SEQUEL to Loud Places, which you can find here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20407381/chapters/48407404
> 
> It is NECESSARY to read Loud Places first! You will be confused if you waltz in and just read this!
> 
> Chapter Warnings: language, general dark themes of war, violence, and a horrific, fascist society, mentions of and allusions to torture…yeah all of that is pretty much the entire MO of this fic.

It was astounding, really, what could change in a matter of mere months.

After the night that most students were referring to as the “Battle of the Astronomy Tower”, everything had changed. The rumors had buzzed frantically around the school in the weeks before the end of term, before Dumbledore’s funeral, before you had all been sent home. Some of them, of course, were outrageous, some plausible. 

But there seemed to be a certain, painful consistency: the involvement of the boy you wished you could stop loving.

Draco Malfoy had smuggled Death Eaters into the school. 

Draco Malfoy had cast the Dark Mark over the Astronomy Tower. 

Albus Dumbledore had been murdered on the Astronomy Tower.

The Death Eaters had fled, Draco Malfoy and Severus Snape among them.

The students were pretty evenly split about whether or not it had been Draco or Snape that had cast the actual Killing Curse.

Those last two weeks you had spent the great majority of your time in your Prefect bedroom, hardly leaving for meals and certainly not going to your alcove. After keeping your promise to Draco and staying there a whole evening, listening to shouts and screams and explosions coming from around the castle, the desire to return there at the end of last term had been nonexistent.

You had also had little desire to be around the other students, to hear Draco’s name and his misdeeds on their lips. It gave you too many conflicting feelings.

The summer had also been like a sort of hell.

After the Ministry officially fell it finally really hit you that things were going to become very deadly indeed. Things got worse: a Muggleborn Registration Commission was formed at the Ministry. Attendance at Hogwarts was made compulsory. People and entire families were going on the run, leaving empty houses behind. You and your mother both begged your father to leave England, to take his boyfriend, but he refused.

And You-Know-Who was in Draco Malfoy’s house, and you had no way of knowing if he was dead or alive, or what was happening to him over the long, hot weeks of July and August.

You began having nightmares. 

Mostly they involved the death of your father, or your mother, or Draco, and you would wake, gasping, trying to shake the images of their pale skin and lifeless eyes from your mind. It never seemed to work.

The only good thing that could be said about the summer was that it was giving you plenty of time to practice Occulumency. It was a better alternative to your feelings, anyway, and so when you felt the prickling sensation of fear or anxiety choking you, or when Draco’s face appeared in your consciousness, giving you a spike of sadness through the stomach, you practiced. You cleared your mind and you counted and you did it for hours.

_Clear your mind_ , you would tell yourself. _Compartmentalize._

Sometimes it backfired, though, when you heard these words in his voice.

This meant that not only was your Legilimency becoming something that could easily be called a _power_ – something that you could tap into at will rather than something that controlled you, as long as you were in smaller groups or no one was touching you – but also that your relationship with your parents was actually improving.

September 1st came, and you were both terrified and relieved. 

Hogwarts belonged to the Death Eaters, but you would finally at least know if Draco was alive.

And indeed, the first thing you did when you arrived on the platform of the Hogwarts Express was sweep it frantically with your eyes, searching for that familiar platinum blonde head.

It was easy to spot, both due to his trademark hair and his height.

He seemed to have grown even taller since you had last seen him. The relief at seeing him alive was so powerful that you had to tightly grip the handlebars of your trolley to keep from falling over. You couldn’t see his face; he wasn’t looking your direction, but was instead talking to a woman that you assumed to be his mother, Narcissa Malfoy.

You quickly looked away, suddenly determined to get into the train as quickly as possible. Looking at him after the initial relief – even just the back of his head – was too painful, and you found that you were now struggling with multiple emotions, making you breathless: guilt, anger, a pang of longing. 

You hated them.

_Compartmentalize_ , you reminded yourself, but the voice that whispered the word in your ear was his, and for a moment you thought you could recall the taste of his lips on yours.

* * *

When you made your way to the prefect compartment in the afternoon accompanied by Ernie Macmillan, you got a particular shock when you slid the door open, because Draco was sitting there in the compartment next to Pansy Parkinson, who was, you were irritated to see, clutching rather tightly to his arm and sitting nestled into his side.  
  
You stopped dead in the doorway.

He hadn’t been a prefect last year. He had given it up. He had told you that.

He had been too busy, too busy with…you had never known, then.

But now you did.

But here he was, apparently with prefect rights reinstated – probably because he was a fellow Death Eater, you thought rather savagely, feeling a sudden rush of anger.

But then you saw that you had been wrong. He wasn’t a prefect at all. There were other, younger Slytherins here with the prefect badges on their chests, and he and Pansy were wearing matching Head Boy and Girl badges.

He glanced up then, his eyes briefly meeting yours.

His expression didn’t change, but something very, very small flickered in his eyes. 

And then it was gone, and he was looking away. Shaking yourself a little, you slowly followed Ernie into the compartment and sank into the seat beside him, taking stock of the others in the room.

It seemed that in the absence of Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger this year, the Gryffindor prefects would be Neville Longbottom and Parvati Patil. The Ravenclaw prefects were, of course, the same, but you didn’t recognize the two new adults in the compartment, or the two other Slytherins.

The new adults were a man and a woman. The man was very thin and the woman very large, and they both had a distinct glint in their eyes that you didn’t like one bit. They also had their sleeves rolled up and their wands out, proudly displaying the matching Dark Marks on their arms.

It was, very clearly, a show of authority. A threat.

_We run your school now,_ their arms seemed to say. _You can guess what will happen if you don’t comply_.

“We’re going to discuss a few changes,” said the woman in a raspy sort of voice, baring her teeth a little before giving you all a very nasty grin. “The new Headmaster has put us in charge of the prefects and punishment this year, so it’s best if you all listen very, very carefully.”

You shuddered a little at the way she said the word _punishment_ with clear excitement in her voice.

“You are required to report anything that you see to us immediately. All punishments will be decided by my sister and I,” said the man roughly, glaring around at you with the unmistakable light of a challenge in his dark eyes. “Though of course, we will be kind enough to let you carry out some of them,” he finished, and the sister cackled, which made your stomach lurch.

Neville Longbottom shifted in his seat, but you didn’t dare look at him.

You already knew quite well that you’d be doing no such thing. There was no way you were handing over students from younger years to these people, who, after only a few seconds in their presence, you could already tell were clearly monsters.

“Furthermore,” said the man, “If you find that anyone at this school is found to be less than Halfblood, you will notify us immediately.”

There was a long, horrible pause.

“No,” growled Neville Longbottom finally. “We won’t.”

“Blood traitor,” drawled Draco, and your eyes immediately shot to him, widening at first but then narrowing in anger. He, however, wasn’t looking at you, but was only gazing at Neville with the look of bored disdain that he was all too good at putting on his aristocratic features.

You felt suddenly very sick.

_Fucking Gryffindors and_ _their_ _recklessness,_ you thought desperately, eyes darting anxiously between Neville and the two Death Eaters, who were staring at him, rather stunned. _Obviously we won’t do it, but to say it like this, here…you’ve already made yourself a target, Neville…_

The man flicked his wand almost lazily, but the sound of the force hitting Neville’s face was so powerful that you and Parvati both gasped, and even Pansy shifted a little in her seat.

Neville slumped over to the side a little before sitting up again with a black eye, though his back was even straighter than before and the look of defiance in his eyes was still there, if not stronger. “You will, boy, or you’ll go the same way as your parents,” sneered the man, and then he glared around at the rest of you. “Anyone else have anything to say?”

Everyone shook their heads quickly, eyes wide.

“Good. The Carrows, remember that name. I’m Amycus and my sister is Alecto. Don’t forget it. And if you don’t report anything to us for a week, we’ll know what you’re doing, and you’ll be sorry. Now get out of our sight,” Amycus Carrow spat, and you wasted no time in scrambling to your feet and rushing out of the compartment without looking back.

Once outside the compartment, you realized that you were shaking. You made it some way down the aisle before you turned to Ernie, pale and horrified.

“Are you all right, Y/N?” He stooped to look into your face in concern, placing his hands on your shoulders.

_Doesn’t look so good, Merlin, of course not, what the hell are we going to do…_

You flinched at the thoughts that came stampeding into your brain at his touch – you were too shaken up to even attempt to block him – but they were suddenly interrupted by a very familiar drawl. “I’m sure she’d be much better without your ugly face right in hers, Macmillan.” 

Ernie turned away to face Draco, who was standing in the aisle and leaning casually against one of the compartments, eyes glittering very maliciously at the other boy.

“Malfoy.” Ernie was puffing his chest out in the pompous manner that only Ernie seemed to know how to do. “Bet you’re loving this, aren’t you? This was the kind of school you wanted Hogwarts to be all along, wasn’t it? Death Eater. _Murderer_ ,” he spat viciously, in a tone that you had never even thought capable of the Hufflepuff boy.

Draco just smirked, apparently supremely unconcerned with Ernie’s opinion of him. “You’ve got me on the first charge. Though I’m afraid you’ve gotten some details wrong on the second one.”

“Come on,” you muttered to Ernie, tugging at his sleeve.

Draco threw you a contemptuous look when Ernie turned away, but you ignored it as best you could and continued on down to your compartment, mind racing. You had no idea how you were going to get out of reporting other students. It was sick, it was cruel, it was terrifying, and Draco’s nonchalant attitude and blood purist remark was only making you feel sicker, though you weren’t sure what you had expected from him. Wasn’t this part of the reason you had ended things?

_Distance_ , you reminded yourself. _Keep your distance_ _from him,_ _Y/N._ _It’s best._

“What are we going to do?” Ernie asked you on the way.

“I don’t know,” you whispered fearfully. “I really, really don’t know.”


	2. Two

The first thing you did after the incredibly gloomy welcome feast – in which Severus Snape stood there as Headmaster and most of the students glared sullenly at him while he talked about the new appointments and some of the changes this year, including compulsory Muggle Studies lessons – was go up to your alcove and change the enchantment to enter it.

It didn’t belong to Draco Malfoy. Not anymore.

And then you slipped inside and cried, and then sat even longer after your tear ducts had dried out, trying to come up with some sort of plan to get out of being a prefect and trying _not_ to imagine what sort of punishment the Carrows would inflict on Hogwarts’ students.

It was nearing curfew, however, and you knew the stakes would be even higher if you were caught roaming the corridors after hours now, so you slipped out to make your way back to your Common Room. You had no intention of sleeping on the floor here, after all.

You were so out of it that you bumped directly into a solid body and stumbled backward.

The pale hand reached out and caught you before you got too far, and you knew who it belonged to before you could even look up at his face. Even this simple touch sent your stomach reeling. You squeezed your eyes shut tight for a moment, gathering courage, and glanced up. He was wearing a steely expression and a heavy frown, his gray eyes like storm clouds.

This immediately put you on the defensive.

“What are you doing here?” you hissed, roughly yanking your arm away.

“Why did you change the enchantment?” he shot back angrily. “I’ve been standing out here _ages._ ”

“I think you know,” you answered crossly, cutting him off. “What do you want, Malfoy?”

He drew back as if you had slapped him. “It’s back to Malfoy, is it?” he asked roughly.

You folded your arms and narrowed your eyes. “Why are you even talking to me, _blood_ _traitor_? Or am I fine to speak with because I’m only _partially_ dirty?”

He blinked before he looked suddenly furious. “You do realize that we were with the Carrows? The Malfoys are already on thin ground with the Dark Lord…”

“Well, you’d best get back in the Lord’s good graces then, I suppose,” you said bitterly. “Is that why Parkinson was hanging on you like that? Got yourself a nice Pureblood woman? Didn’t take you long, did it?” Your chest was heaving; you hadn’t realized how angry you had been with him until this very moment, and you couldn’t control the stupid, petty words that were spilling out of you.

“You’re being fucking impossible,” he growled, fists clenching at his sides. And then his eyes darkened. “And anything about a current relationship of mine wouldn’t be your concern.”

“You’re an arsehole,” you spat, feeling an ache in your chest.

“And you’re selfish,” he shot back, and you took a step back at the venom in his voice. His eyes were burning at you. “You break things off with me and…what? Think you still have control over what I do with girls? Wanting me to wait around for you, is that it?”

“I – ” You found that you didn’t have anything to say to that, and you hated that there were now tears sparkling in your eyes. You brought your gaze to the floor and blinked rapidly, hating that, as harshly as he had said it, he had a bit of a point. “No,” you mumbled finally, staring at his shoes. “But you know that’s…I think you still know that you’re being mean, flaunting it like that…”

“I’m not flaunting anything,” said Draco flatly, and when you looked up you saw that his face was completely devoid of emotion. You recognized that look – he was hiding something, using Occulumency to make sure that it remained in the dark – and for a wild moment you truly considered trying to enter his head, to fight past his defenses and see what was happening in his brain and saying fuck all to the consequences of his anger. He wouldn’t hurt you. You were still certain of that, at least. And your Legilimency was more powerful now.

You were almost certain you could do it…

But then he squeezed his eyes shut, appearing to swallow a heavy lump in his throat before he opened them again and continued, in a now very neutral voice, “How’s your family?”

You blinked in shock. “ _What_?”

“Your _family_ ,” he emphasized, rather irritably. “I hadn’t heard anything.”

“If you’re asking whether or not you lot have had my father murdered for being a Muggle, the answer is no,” you said, voice hard and cold.

His eyes flashed. “You lot? You’re going to just treat me like another Death Eater all the sudden?”

You felt all the emotions well up and burst out, like a dam that had been pent up after an entire summer of sitting and struggling with all the feelings about what you had heard regarding the night where the Dark Mark had appeared over the Astronomy Tower. “Well, aren’t you? You let Death Eaters into the school!” you cried out. “With all of these vulnerable people. The young students!”

“No one got killed!” he said defensively, though his face was twisting at your words.

“Except Dumbledore,” you replied furiously, and he blanched. Your voice was rising to a shout despite that being incredibly inadvisable at this hour. “Are you glad it’s Snape now, then, and we’ve got these new, horrible creatures in charge of – of _punishment_?”

“I didn’t kill him,” he said, hoarsely, his eyes becoming cloudy. “I couldn’t.”

“But you were just fine with putting hundreds of others at risk, weren’t you?” You shook your head and closed your eyes; the anger was evaporating, and in its place was a deep, aching sadness. You felt how a few tears slipped out of the corner of your eyes, try as you might to contain them. You brushed them away impatiently, thinking that talking to him the first night you had arrived had been a spectacularly bad idea, and wishing he hadn’t sought you out.

“I thought I knew you,” you mumbled. “I never did, did I?” You looked up at him miserably to see that his face was furious again.

“Don’t be like that,” he said harshly. “You _know_ – ”

“What I _know_ is that you _left_ me!” you said, folding your arms across your chest tightly as if that would somehow ease the sharp pain that was invading it. “You left that night, and you always left, and you never told me a damn thing, Draco. Not ever. I was always kept out.”

“What was I supposed to do?” he yelled suddenly, angrily, and then seemed to realize he was being too loud by the way his eyes flooded with caution and he paused, glancing quickly up and down the corridor. He continued in a voice that was quieter, but no less furious, and his eyes were blazing again. “Pull you into it as well? Not go along with his orders? Let them kill my mother? Or me? Is that what you would have wanted, Y/N?”

You faltered, suddenly unable to breathe. The powerful images of some of the recurring dreams over the summer were returning to you – Draco being tortured, Draco being killed, Draco crumpled on the ground, his eyes lifeless and glassy and unseeing –

“ _No_ ,” you choked out finally. “Obviously.”

“See? It wasn’t so black and white,” he said, more quietly now.

You sighed, swallowing hard to keep tears back, and there was a long pause as you gazed at each other. 

It was the first time in the conversation that you noted how tired he looked; the circles under his eyes were still there, he was still dangerously thin, and his skin color was ashen. These things had all been true last year as well, but there was something about his mannerisms that was different.

You were unsure what it was, but you began to fret about his summer, anxiety clogging your throat.

_What’s happen_ _ed_ _to you?_ you thought anxiously.

_He won’t tell you_ , you reminded yourself suddenly. _He never did._ _Don’t ask._

_Distance._

“Take care, Malfoy,” you mumbled finally, turning to go. 

But you had only gone about ten paces when some horrid, impulsive part of you turned on your heel to ask him a question you had been dying to ask for months. “Did you mean it?”

“Mean what?”

His eyes were cautious. Still closed away. But you were quite certain that he knew very well what.

“The note,” you said anyway, heart thudding irrationally fast as you awaited his answer.

His eyes flickered for a moment, and then they died again. The rest of his face was smooth and perfectly blank. Like talking to a wall. “No,” he said finally, very firmly.

“Why give it to me, then?” you choked out in a whisper, feeling a lump grow in your throat and more tears accumulate in your eyes. You were unable to keep some from falling this time.

“Because I thought it was true when I wrote it,” he said slowly, “And I thought I was going to die.”

You stared at him for a long time, feeling your stomach writhing and your heart sinking. His face was solemn and serious, and he had a slight frown playing across his features. And then you nodded stiffly, feeling both crushed and mortified and wishing furiously that you hadn’t asked.

“R-right,” you whispered, before spinning on your heel and flying down the corridor, leaving him standing there, frozen, behind you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: language, angst, very light mentions of torture themes


	3. Three

You made it back to the Hufflepuff Common Room precisely two minutes before curfew.

Most students went to bed early on the first evening, exhausted from the long trip to Hogwarts and exceptionally full from the start of term feast, so you hoped you wouldn’t encounter anyone at this time of night, because there would be no disguising that you had been crying. What had started as a tightness in your chest had turned to more tears, and they had progressively gotten worse and worse until you had been sobbing quietly in the corridors as you hurried along, half blinded, praying you would make curfew.

You made curfew, but complete luck clearly was not on your side, for when you climbed through to the Common Room you immediately saw that Susan was awake. She looked up when you entered. “Where have you been?” she asked curiously, and then stood up quickly when she saw your face more clearly. “What happened?” she asked urgently, striding forward. “Are you all right? Did someone hurt you?”

_Yes_ , you wanted to say, but you knew very well she was talking about a different kind of hurt.

“No, no…everything is fine…” You contrasted this statement with a deeply shuddering sob.

“Funny way to express that you’re fine,” said Susan, half teasing, half gentle. She still looked concerned when she gestured to the couch and, not knowing how to simply leave without being impolite, you moved forward and sat, avoiding her eyes. “I know we only started spending more time together last spring,” she continued carefully. “I don’t want to overstep, but…you seem to have become quite…miserable since the end of last year.”

You stared at her, a little surprised someone had noticed. “Oh,” was all you could think to say.

Susan just gave you a small, encouraging smile.

“Sometimes,” she said slowly, eyes scanning your face, “I find it helps me to talk about things with friends.”

“I…” You recognized the explicit offer of friendship, and felt almost panicked by it. You had never had a friend or someone to talk to besides Draco, and seeing how well _that_ had gone…

“I’ve never really shared things with others,” you confessed, and immediately felt positively idiotic for saying it, so you hastened to say, “Except…well there was one person. And he wasn’t a friend, exactly, he was…” You trailed off, the flash of Draco’s face briefly appearing in your mind’s eye yet again and sending a knife through your chest.

“He?” pressed Susan mildly.

“Um…” You wavered, unsure how much you should share. The information that you had been involved with Draco Malfoy was something you’d much rather keep secret for multiple reasons.

“Did you lose someone?” asked Susan very carefully.

“I — I had a bit of a…bad breakup,” you confessed, glancing nervously at her.

She looked sympathetic. “Oh, Y/N, I’m so sorry,” she said sincerely, patting your hand.

Thankfully, she did not ask who it was, and you decided right then that you really did like Susan Bones very much.

Her pity made your chest tighten again, though, and your high emotional state was too receptive to her thoughts when she touched you, so you carefully withdrew your hand, hoping she wouldn’t take offense to the motion. “I — I still love him, and I think I might be a bad person for it,” you burst out, suddenly needing to say it now, to get it out there, to _someone_.

“Why’s that?” Susan was frowning, thoughtful.

“He’s just not always…the best person,” you said haltingly, biting your lip.

“You’re not a bad person for seeing someone’s potential,” she said kindly. “Is that why you’re sad?”

“No, I…”

_I just found out he never loved me, after all. He seems to have moved on, very quickly, and it hurts._

“Not exactly,” was all you mumbled. “I just had a bad conversation with him and….and it’s…complicated.” You gave her an apologetic look. “I don’t really want to talk about it more.”

“Well,” said Susan very slowly. “If you ever do feel like talking more about it, I’m here to talk to.”

“Thank you,” you said, giving her a watery, grateful smile.

“We should probably go up to bed, right? Big day tomorrow.” She gave you a little grimace — probably thinking of the Carrows, as you now also were — and then she stood, smiling down at you, holding out her hand. Very grateful that you didn’t have to talk about the topic further, you took it with a smile in return, trying unsuccessfully not to hear the low buzz of her thoughts.

Though she had been too polite to ask, she was still speculating in her mind, with both concern and raging curiosity, about the identity of your ex.

* * *

Draco Malfoy was in a bad mood the moment he woke up on the first day of term. Really, he had been in a bad mood for months now, but his mood was _particularly_ bad today, especially after spending enough time in the Great Hall during breakfast.

As Slughorn — who was the new Slytherin Head of House this year, seeing as Snape was now Headmaster — walked up and down the table handing out the schedules for the year, Draco’s eyes darted across the room, to the Hufflepuff table, for what must have been the thirtieth time.

When he saw that Terry Boot was _still_ talking to her, gesturing to their newly received schedules, he scowled.

Terry Boot was a fucking Ravenclaw, wasn’t he? He should go back to his bloody table.

Susan Bones, who was sitting on her other side, suddenly caught Draco’s eye. Draco looked hurriedly away to the gigantic plate of stacked toast in the middle of the table, casually reaching for a piece not because he wanted one (in fact, there were three on his plate already), but to look busy.

“Hey,” he heard Pansy’s voice say, and she flopped in beside him on the bench and tucked one of her arms through his, lying her head on his shoulder with a very deep and dramatic sigh.

“Pansy,” he greeted coolly, without even looking at her.

“Draco,” she said quietly, a warning in her tone. “You _know…_ ”

He sighed and slung an irritable arm around her shoulders. She just snorted, reaching for a wedge of orange and starting to nibble on it. Draco chanced another glance over at the Hufflepuff table. A few of the Hufflepuffs — _her_ included — were getting up from the table and leaving the Great Hall, so he could only see the back of her head as they walked away.

Suddenly, a piece of paper was being waved in Draco’s face, interrupting his staring, and he blinked.

“Here we are, Mr. Malfoy, here we are!” said Slughorn, far too cheerfully in Draco’s opinion. With his free hand, Draco snatched it with an exasperated little huff. Pansy extracted herself from his arm when she got hers, and for a moment it was silent as they looked over their new schedule.

It was with great relief that Draco saw that he didn’t have Muggle Studies until Wednesday, and Defense Against the Dark Arts wasn’t until Friday, a double period. This meant that he wouldn’t have to deal directly with the Carrows for the next couple of days.

But then he saw _who_ the Slytherins had Defense Against the Dark Arts with that day, and he almost lost all of his composure entirely.

_No_.

He had a very good idea about the sort of activities that would be happening in that class if Amycus Carrow was involved, and if they had that class with the Hufflepuffs, that meant…

_No_.

“Draco?” Pansy was shaking his shoulder, and when he looked at her he could see that her dark eyes held concern in them.

Immediately, he arranged his face back into his usual bored, arrogant expression. “We should get going,” continued Pansy, still looking at him rather strangely. “We have Charms in ten minutes, so hurry up.”

“Right,” Draco muttered, swinging his legs over the bench and standing to follow Pansy from the Great Hall. He was not unaware of the glares that were coming his direction from most of the student population, or the way they murmured behind their hands when he passed, but he continued on with his usual confident swagger and was sure to place a slight smirk on his face.

Everything this year was going to be a game, a dangerous one, and he intended to play it right.

In order to avoid Pansy’s eye and hopefully avoid talking to her about his close call at the breakfast table, Draco absentmindedly fumbled in his pocket for the vial of potion that he always kept there — every muscle in his body relaxing when he felt it tucked reassuringly in the pocket of his robes — and glanced over his schedule again.

That was when he noticed something else on the schedule for that evening.

“Pansy, what the fuck?” he exclaimed, gesturing to the schedule after a long moment of staring at it. “The Carrows are holding a prefect meeting every Monday?” He felt fear and nerves and nausea roll through him all at once at the mere thought of it.

“Yes,” she said, her voice wavering only a fraction. “Though tonight they won’t be there because of a staff meeting called by Snape. I’m actually leading it.”

“Just _cancel_ it,” hissed Draco furiously.

Pansy shot him a glare. “I actually have a good thing I’m going to be introducing, Draco, so you could try being supportive and, you know. Less of a fucking asshole.”

Draco scowled. “What _good_ _thing_ are you talking about?”

As far as he was concerned, meeting in a room with a bunch of other students that hated him — Y/N now possibly included — was not his definition of anything with the word “good” in it.

“An idea I had,” said Pansy vaguely.

Draco grit his teeth in frustration, but it was clear that Pansy did not want to explain more about the matter; and besides, they had arrived at the doorway to the Charms classroom, and so the rest of the conversation was cut short as they entered the room and went straight to the back, taking seats beside each other and Pansy looping her arm through his.

* * *

“Why do you think they’re already having a meeting, Ernie?” you asked the other Hufflepuff prefect fearfully as you made your way to the specified meeting place — ominously, the dungeons.

“Something heinous, surely,” said Ernie gruffly, looking concerned.

Unfortunately, there was no way that Ernie was incorrect. Nervous butterflies danced in the pit of your stomach at the thought of facing the Carrows. Matters were not improved by the fact that you figured Draco would probably be there.

To your surprise, however, you saw that the Carrows were conspicuously absent when you and Ernie arrived, even though you had both only gotten there a few minutes before the meeting was supposed to start.

Still, you thought nervously, it wouldn’t surprise you if the Carrows would show up later if it meant they had a chance to intimidate or torture.

Briefly — a split second — your eyes connected with Draco’s as you and Ernie made your way to sit over beside Neville and Parvati at some of the desks that had been pushed together.

But you looked away just as quickly as you had caught his eye.

A still horrible mixture of longing and sadness and anger was making your stomach churn.

“Now that the Hufflepuffs have decided to grace us with their presence,” said Pansy Parkinson very nastily. “We can finally begin with the meeting.”

You bit your tongue so that you wouldn’t snap at her.

You and Ernie hadn’t been late, and Pansy’s eyes were glinting at you both as if daring you to speak up against her authority, but you didn’t want to give in. Arguing with her would drag this out, anyway, and you wanted nothing more than to just get it over with. Ernie, it seemed, was thinking along similar lines, because he only puffed out his chest, looking distinctly ruffled.

“Why have a meeting at the beginning of the year?” asked Parvati bluntly.

Pansy turned her narrowed eyes to her instead. “Because,” she said coldly, “I want to introduce the new mentoring program that we’re all going to be doing.”

You saw Draco’s head turn slightly to look at her and chanced a glance at his features — they were full of irritation. “What?” he snapped, frowning.

“Older years will get a younger student that they will mentor. You will meet with your student once a week and help them with their school work,” she explained simply, and Draco’s expression morphed into one of horror. The rest of the students, however, seemed shocked into silence.

“Why do you want to do this?” asked Terry Boot finally, frowning.

“Because it’s a good program!” Pansy shot back at him very indignantly. “They do it at Beauxbatons and the younger students all do much better.“

You couldn’t help yourself. “I don’t think he was asking why the program should exist, Parkinson,” you said roughly, a hard edge in your voice that was quite rare. “I think most of us are just surprised that _you,_ of all people, want to set up something that involves helping others.”

There was a collective intake of breath — you saw Parvati grinning appreciatively at you for your cheek, though Draco was looking exasperated and Neville was frowning a little. And when you saw the look on Pansy’s face you very much wished you hadn’t spoken. If looks could kill, Pansy’s would have sent you crumbling to the floor instantly, but you tried not to shrink back from her death glare and sit up straighter instead.

You couldn’t block her. The inside of her head was loud, practically screaming.  
  
She _hated_ you.

She hated you, and not in the way that she hated certain people on principle, like Gryffindors, or even just because of your comment. No, you could feel it radiating from her, the hatred, and it was you _specifically_ that she hated.

_Why?_ you wondered desperately. _Does she know? Does she know I’m his ex? He wouldn’t have told her — would he??_

And you were just considering dipping in her head to find out the answer to that question — after all, politeness went out the window with listening in on Pansy Parkinson, as far as you were concerned — but she spoke up before you could try it.

“Oh yes, why would an ambitious Slytherin prefect made Head Girl want to do anything?” she replied, acid in her voice, and then her eyes flashed dangerously at you. “This coming from the girl who hardly talks to anyone and can also barely perform magic in class. How did _you_ become a prefect again?”

Your face heated and you opened your mouth furiously to respond, fists clenched at your sides but wishing you could stuff your hands in your robes and hex her silly. But before you could reply, Draco spoke up first.

"Probably not the best way to convince them to like your idea, Pans,” he muttered, rolling his eyes, and both of you shot him looks of disdain.

“Yes, play nice, Parkinson,” Neville warned, but his voice was weary rather than threatening. “It’s…actually a good idea,” he admitted, glancing around at the rest of the prefects. “Isn’t it?”

You were still shaking with rage, glaring at Pansy. She seemed to detect you wanted to pull your wand on her, because you saw her fingers also twitch toward her robes while she stared right back, not blinking.

There were mumbles of reluctant agreement.

Under normal circumstances, you also would have said it was a good idea. This year, however, the last thing you wanted was more official duties. But then again, perhaps that was why it would be helpful.

The younger students would have less opportunity to focus on their studies than usual, because…

You suddenly shuddered, pushing the thought from your mind.

Draco, for his part, did not seem to be pleased with the suggestion at all.

His eyes were stormy when you stole another glance at him, watching Pansy with his lips pursed in frustration, but to your surprise, he actually didn’t protest or say anything at all. He kept quiet, even when Pansy passed out lists containing information about which student was your partner and when you could be meeting.

“If that time doesn’t work for you,” she continued, "Arrange a different one directly with your student. Got that? I don’t have time to do all the scheduling for all of you, so work it out yourselves.”

There were more mumbles, and some were probably grumbles of irritation, but no one said anything directly.

When Pansy dismissed all of you, you hurried out and to the corridor to wait for Ernie, not wanting to be in that room for another second.

* * *

As always when one is dreading something, the time seemed to fly by, and before Draco knew it he was making his way to the Defense Against the Dark Arts dungeon classroom on Friday afternoon.

When he walked into the classroom he immediately spotted _her_ at the far end, seeing that she was absorbed in conversation with Susan Bones at their table, her head turned away from the door. He felt a curious tugging sensation in his gut, but that was normal. The uncomfortable feelings also probably had to do with the upcoming lesson.

He slid into a desk beside Blaise Zabini, who just gave him a brief nod but, thankfully, did not treat him like a leper as most did.

When Amycus Carrow entered the classroom, everyone fell silent immediately, watching the Death Eater warily, like one watches a wild animal. No one seemed to know what to expect.

Draco envied them that.

He chanced a glance in _her_ direction again to see that she was watching the professor with slightly narrowed eyes, but the way her hands were clutching the edge of her desk betrayed her fear.

“Well then,” said Amycus, eyes glittering malevolently at the class. “It’s time this school started to give its pupils proper Dark Arts education, ain’t it?” He grinned viciously. “Historically our society functions best when it is kept as pure as possible, and after centuries of persecution and repression it is time we moved into the open, wouldn’t you agree?”

He paused, giving them all a dangerous smile. “But of course there are people who want to oppose our noble ideals.” He was prowling between the desks, looking carefully at all the students, who were, for the most part, keeping their chins tucked down and staring hard at their desks, terrified to meet his eyes. “So we must learn how to best neutralize these terrorist groups, yes? Practice our methods, should we not?”

No one said anything.

Amycus strode toward the Slytherin side of the room and paused in front of Draco’s desk, waiting until the blonde reluctantly looked up at him.

“Drakey here is familiar with the methods the Dark Lord uses to get people talking, aren’t you?” taunted Amycus, his smile getting wider and more malicious. Draco’s fists did a little spasm on the desk, but he held Amycus’ gaze steadily, carefully making sure that his face was betraying nothing of his feelings. “Go on then,” continued Amycus nastily, “Tell the class what the Dark Lord always says the most important thing is to contain first.”

It was silent for a long moment.

“Hope,” muttered Draco finally, looking back down at the desk.

“Hope,” repeated Amycus softly, strolling over to the Hufflepuff side and sitting on the edge of Hannah Abbott’s desk, leering down at her. “And what’s the opposite of hope, sweet thing?”

“D-Despair?” squeaked Hannah, clearly terrified out of her mind.

“Precisely,” said Amycus, standing up and heading to the front of the classroom before turning around, eyes sweeping calculatingly over the students. “There are plenty of ways to bring about despair in our enemies, of course. Or perhaps even our colleagues that disappoint us, eh?”

He laughed suddenly, and his eyes flew to Draco again. “Drakey has the honor of living with the Dark Lord during the holidays,” he continued, softly again, but there was an edge to his voice. “Why don’t you share some of the methods with the class, hmm? How does the Dark Lord approach the problem of our enemies and create despair?”

“Torture, mostly,” said Draco hoarsely, trying desperately not to hear the screams from the various victims from the past year that he had been forced to turn his wand on.

“What kind of methods?” pressed Amycus eagerly.

“Plenty,” he replied stiffly, forcing his face to remain cool and aloof even as the eyes of the students in the classroom were fixated on him. He did not want to look at their faces and see whatever emotions would be on them — disgust, most likely, and fear — so he continued staring steadily at Amycus.

“Such as?” snapped Amycus impatiently.

“Physical or emotional torture,” Draco said tonelessly.

_Clear your mind. Don’t think about it…_

“An example of emotional torture?” Amycus asked, and thankfully his eyes were looking around the room again, clearly expecting another student to answer. “Yes, Crabbe?”

“Killin’ a family member or friend,” said Crabbe roughly, his dark eyes glinting. “Right in front of ‘em, maybe, so they’ll always remember it.”

“Oh yes, very good,” said Amycus, with a horrible little cackle, as most of the class just stared at Crabbe with horrified looks on their faces. “Yes. The Cruciatus Curse usually serves best for physical torture, of course, and we’ll be practicing that as well, naturally, very important. But the best kind of torture is when we _combine_ the two. Oh yes, people break the fastest when they’re hit with both.” Amycus bounced happily on the balls of his feet before turning to the board and flicking his wand so that the chalk began to fly through the air.

The students all just sat, petrified, in their chairs. “Go on!” Amycus hissed suddenly. “Start taking notes!”

There was a scramble as everyone hurriedly shuffled to get out their parchment, quill, and ink and begin copying what was on the board as the professor spoke, with relish clear in his voice as he discussed various ways to inflict as much emotional pain as possible during a Cruciatus Curse: torturing a loved one alongside the target; putting the victim in a state of extreme confusion and fear with a potion or plant that makes them hallucinate, and torturing them during…

Draco’s handwriting was shakier than usual at the vile things he was forced to write, and when the bell rang he swept out of the room as quickly as he could, before anyone could talk to him.

Unfortunately, he wasn’t quick enough to miss Amycus’ gleeful announcement that they would start understanding despair in a more practical way soon.

* * *

The second week at Hogwarts was just as terrible as the first, if not worse.

Though one good thing happened — namely, that you had been spared a prefect meeting that week and it had been postponed to the following week, when it would become regular — the first thing that happened was that you received an owl that your mother had finally convinced your father and his boyfriend to flee the country.

You were glad they were safe, of course, but it was the reason it was necessary it was so depressing.

The entire castle had a glum sort of feeling about it, depressed and dreary. It no longer felt like Hogwarts. Eyes were dead or anxious. There was a pervasive quiet, as if students were terrified to speak. Even the staff were completely on edge.

It did not make things easy for the inside of your head, and despite all your practice over the summer with Occulumency, you found your abilities beginning to suffer. What was more, you were exhausted.

Next to all the other stress and sadness that was affecting your sleeping schedule there was also regular classes and homework, prefect patrols, and the mentoring program which, for you, took place on the weekend. Your student turned out to be a quiet little Hufflepuff girl named Brenda, who dutifully did her work and sometimes politely asked you questions but did not seem interested in deeper conversation — at least not yet — which, quite frankly, had been fine with you.

And finally: it became more obvious that _something_ had to be going on with Draco and Pansy.

They always seemed to be together, whether it was in class or in the Great Hall during meals; and she was always touching him in some way, too, holding onto his arm or his hand.

You knew it was probably a stupid, petty thing to care about with all of the other terrible things happening, but it didn’t stop you from feeling a surge of indignation every time you thought about how quickly he appeared to have moved on. Like last year hadn’t happened. Like he hadn’t written you that note just a few months ago, a note that you kept crumpled in your trunk, unable to throw away despite the fact that he had told you it hadn’t been true.

You never met his eyes, and you never caught him looking your direction.

It was truly as if you didn’t exist, and it hurt more than anything.

But wasn’t that what you had wanted?

A clean break?

Hadn’t you ended things?

Of course, the thing you had truly been dreading throughout the week was Defense Against the Dark Arts again on Friday, not only because it was a class that you shared with the Slytherins, but because of what you feared Amycus Carrow would have the class do. But Friday came quickly whether you wanted it to or not, and that afternoon you made your way down to the dungeons with Susan and Hannah and Terry Boot, who was accompanying you all there despite not having the class himself as a Ravenclaw.

“So what did you do, Terry?” Susan asked him finally as you walked through the corridor, with the air of someone asking a question they had been avoiding but finally needed the answer to. Terry had the class on Wednesdays.

“He had a potion,” muttered Terry reluctantly. “Partnered people off and made some take it, and had us take notes on the effects. Asked us how it could be used to our advantage to weaken people or torture them. It was…sick. Truly.” Indeed, he looked suddenly very pale.

“Oh no,” you couldn’t help but whisper hoarsely, covering your mouth.

Terry stepped forward and pulled you into a tight hug, much to your surprise.

Instantly, his thoughts came barreling into your mind at his touch. You stiffened in discomfort, squeezing your eyes shut and trying to block them, but they were too loud and overwhelming.

… _looks frightened, wish I had the class with her, wish I could hug her more often, Merlin, she smells good, she feels so nice, I don’t know if it would be insensitive to ask her on a date, what with everything that’s going on…_

“Don’t tell me that you can’t sense that she’s massively uncomfortable, Boot,” said a very familiar drawl, and it sounded amused.

To your relief, Terry did indeed stop hugging you and the bombardment of his thoughts stopped.

He pulled away to glare at Draco instead.

Draco was leaning against the door frame of the classroom, arms folded and looking at the other boy with an infuriating smirk. “Even I can see how tense she is from all the way over here.”

“Piss off, Malfoy,” snapped Terry. “She’s tense because of what your Death Eater pals will do in class. Why even take this class, eh? Don’t you know enough about the Dark Arts?“

“Am I not allowed to be here?” Draco’s eyes were glinting with a challenge.

“Come on,” said Susan, glancing between the two boys and then throwing you a rather concerned look. “Let’s go, Y/N, Hannah…we should probably get in there…”

Terry reached out to squeeze your hand, and you fought hard to contain your flinch. His thoughts were dulled, like a radio that only had fuzzy reception, but you still heard his wish to hug you again. “It’s going to be fine,” he said earnestly. “See you all after?” His eyes ranged over all three of you, but lingered on you the longest. You saw Hannah grin knowingly out of the corner of your eye.

You all nodded before turning and hurrying inside the classroom. You didn’t dare look at Draco, who was still leaning on the door frame, even though walking so closely beside him was making your heart beat irregularly in your chest. He surprised you by leaning forward slightly when you passed.

The words were breathed so quietly into your ear that you barely could hear them, and his tone was snide, his voice rough. “Got an admirer, do you?”

You irritably ignored him, following Susan and Hannah to the opposite side of the classroom and determinedly not looking in the direction of the Slytherins, though out of the corner of your eye you still saw him saunter in and sit in a desk near the back of the room.

There was a potion bubbling in a cauldron on the desk in the front of the classroom, green fumes rising out of it ominously. You exchanged a nervous glance with Susan and Hannah. While looking at your friends, you caught Pansy Parkinson also come into the classroom. She primly settled in beside Draco and immediately lay her head on his shoulder; you grit your teeth so hard they might snap and looked toward the front of the room again.

Amycus Carrow came stalking in two minutes late, frowning, and his beady little eyes swept around the room. “Ms. Parkinson, if you don’t keep your hands to yourself you’ll both get a nice dose of Cruciatus,” he said nastily. Everyone looked over to see Pansy extracting her arm from Draco’s and lifting her head from his shoulder, her eyes glinting at Professor Carrow and a rather smug expression on her face. Draco, for his part, was sitting very still, his face blank.

You turned again and stared unseeingly at the empty chalkboard. Your brain was number than usual.

_It doesn’t matter,_ you thought fiercely, though there were tears burning in your eyes. _It doesn’t, it doesn’t, it doesn’t…he didn’t let you in, he never gave you what you needed, he never opened up…you ended it, so stop wanting him, you stupid, stupid girl…_

There was a sudden banging sound right in front of you, and you jumped a few inches in your chair and let out a little squeak of surprise and fear.

You looked up to see Amycus Carrow glaring down at you, his hands on the desk, which he had apparently just smacked out of anger. “I asked you a question twice now, girly,” he hissed, leaning forward even more, a positively menacing look on his face.

“I — I didn’t — ” you sputtered helplessly.

“The potion,” snapped Amycus furiously. “What do you reckon it is? And if I have to ask you a question more than once ever again, I promise that you’ll be very sorry indeed.”

“I — I don’t know,” you whispered, a waver in your voice.

Amycus’ eyes narrowed. “You a prefect, ain’t you? What’s your surname, girly?”

“Y/L/N,” you answered, a little more steadily this time.

“Well Y/L/N,” said Amycus softly, in a voice that was somehow more terrifying than if he were to yell, “That there is a potion of the Dark Lord’s invention, that is. It’s about to give us a practical lesson on despair.”

He smiled again, stood up straighter, and looked around the room. “Let’s see — Abbott, you’re with Bones…Greengrass, with Jones…Crabbe, with Smith…” It became horribly obvious what he was doing; he was pairing Purebloods with the others, and you almost fell out of your chair when your name was called after Draco’s.

You sat there, frozen, unable to move and not daring to look his direction; and then Amycus spoke into the very loud and long silence that followed his pairings. “Well, go join your partners!” he snapped. “Hurry up!”

Not obeying would be worse, so you got to your feet. Your knees and hands were trembling, but you slowly made your way over to Draco’s table and took the seat that Pansy Parkinson had just vacated, still not meeting his eye and instead choosing to stare the top of the desk, hands folded carefully in your lap to control the shaking of your fingers.

“Purebloods, get some parchment ready to take notes. Your partner will be drinking.” Amycus was levitating goblets of potion to each table; Draco’s hands were fumbling for a quill and parchment when the goblet, with its bright green liquid contents, floated gently onto the middle of the desk.

It was then that you cautiously glanced up at Draco for the first time; he was looking at you very intently, and his face was neutral except for his eyes, which were dotted with concern.

“Drink up,” ordered Amycus, and you heard that his voice was right behind yours. You hesitated only a few seconds, but it was enough to make him lean down, uncomfortably close to your ear. “Drink it all, Halfblood, or I’ll force it down your fucking throat.”

Draco shifted slightly in his chair. You saw it out of the corner of your eye, but you merely reached out with a hand as steady as you could make it.

You took the goblet, tilted it back, and drained the green contents inside, praying desperately that it wouldn’t kill you, or at least that whatever side effects you were sure to encounter could be fixed later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: language, mentions of violence, torture; vague hints of addiction; drama, angst, sadness, messed up stuff, its a war, you know the drill by now, etc


	4. Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Please always remember to check chapter warnings in the notes :)

“You’ll need to take notes on the potion’s effects,” snapped Amycus at the rest of the class. “What are you waiting for?”

There was an immediate flurry of movement, and Draco pulled out his own quill and parchment slowly, clutching the quill so tightly that his knuckles were white.

He didn’t know this particular potion yet, but that was almost worse.

It didn’t take long–perhaps a minute–for Y/N’s eyes to glaze over, for the goblet to slip from her fingers and land with a loud clatter on the desk as she doubled over, gripping the edge for support. Her entire body began to tremble, and she was gasping hoarsely; her movements were almost perfectly echoed by the other students in the classroom that had taken the potion.

“What’s happening?” demanded Hannah Abbott from across the room in a very loud and shrill voice.

“This is a potion of the Dark Lord’s invention,” said Amycus very proudly. “He calls it the Potion of Despair. Take more notes, you stupid creatures.”

“Water,” croaked Y/N suddenly, reaching out an imploring hand to Draco. Her eyes had a milky quality to them, and were moving desperately and unseeingly around the room. The pleading in her eyes and in her voice was making his hands shake again. “Water, _please_ … _please_ …so thirsty…”

Amycus strode forward and waved his wand, causing the goblets around the room to refill. “As you can see, they crave more to drink,” he announced nastily. “So give it to them.” 

Draco’s hand twitched toward where his wand was tucked carefully in his robes. How suicidal of a move would it be for him to whip it out right now? Never had he wanted to actually murder someone until right this very moment.

“NOW!” roared Amycus, when no one had moved. Crabbe was the first to pick up the second goblet and shove it roughly into his partner’s hands.

With his hands visibly vibrating now, Draco picked it up and handed it to her. “Here,” he said quietly, trying to swallow his revulsion down, hating himself, feeling positively sick and grimy and horrid. “Drink this.”

Y/N didn’t protest. She snatched the goblet almost eagerly and drank again without complaint, the whole thing, as if it were the water she craved, before dropping the goblet again, hunching over, and beginning to take shuddering breaths that made Draco’s whole body go cold with fear.

“A particularly brilliant part of this potion,” began Amycus calmly from the front of the room, smiling very happily. Y/N gasped and shuddered, squeezing her eyes shut and her face twisting in pain. “The victim’s thirst becomes unbearable, and their desperation for a drink makes them happy to obey any demands to take more potion. _Why aren’t you writing this down_?”

The noises of slow, reluctant scratching filled the room. Draco caught sight of Hannah Abbott crying quietly over at their table before bringing his eyes back to Y/N. Her eyes were even cloudier now, and she slumped forward on the desk with a little moan, clutching at her hair. After a few moments she let out a loud, bloodcurdling scream that made the class jump before she began to sob, rocking back and forth slightly in the chair. Some other students began to scream, too; many were crying, making sounds of fear, and protest…

Draco’s quill actually did snap at this point, and Pansy glanced at him out of the corner of her eye from the next desk over, a calculating look on her face. 

He knew he was pale. He knew all the blood had drained from his face. He also knew that if Amycus saw any form of sympathy, it would only make it worse. But he didn’t know how long he could do nothing.

_Not much longer,_ he prayed. _Please, not much longer…make it_ _all_ _stop…_

“The victim is suffering severe hallucinations,” explained Amycus, grinning.

“How long does it last?” another student asked worriedly.

“Depends on the dose and the size of the victim,” answered Amycus nastily. “But the hallucinations from this one should last about five minutes. Afterward they’ll come back to reality, thirsty and exhausted and sick. The potion works not only to give despair to a rebel, but also to weaken them. Very useful if a prisoner needs to be moved, for example. No real chances of escape, thinking clearly, or using magic well a couple of hours after drinking _this_.” He cackled, and Draco’s hand twitched once more; but he was distracted when Y/N let out another small little scream between her sobbing, and his eyes flew to look at her.

Amycus was prowling among the desks, and he was at the far end of the room when Y/N’s head slowly rose from her arms again, her unfocused eyes looking vaguely in the direction of Draco’s face.

“What did you give me?” she whispered hoarsely. “ _What the fuck did you give me_?”

Draco’s mouth went so dry that he couldn’t have spoken even if that wouldn’t have been a spectacularly bad idea. He just stared at her, helpless. _Take notes_ , he told himself. _Make yourself busy_. But he didn’t think he would be able to write a single coherent word.

_Relax_ , he thought furiously, hoping, perhaps, that she may be able to hear him even in her confused state. _Just relax._

“ _What?”_ Her eyes were whirling around the room, her face twisting in confusion before she screamed again, gazing at something over Draco’s left shoulder that no one else could see before her dazed eyes found his again. “Get me out of here, get me out– _why would you do this to me_?” Her voice was half a scream, strangled, her face twisted in horror before she began to rock frantically back and forth again, burying her face in her hands. “You’re a _liar_ ,” she whispered out suddenly. “I _hate_ you…” She began to cry even harder, shoulders shaking.

_No more_ , thought Draco, feeling his heart drop into his stomach and tighten painfully. _Make it stop, please, make it stop,_ _I can’t do this_ _…_

“Where am I? _Where am I_?” she howled, raising her head again and gripping her hair so fiercely between her fingers that it looked painful.

And then–Draco hadn’t thought it possible–it got even worse. Y/N leaned forward, reaching out wildly. Her hands found the material of Draco’s robes, and she shook furiously, her eyes completely wild and yet still entirely vacant. “Kill me!” she begged brokenly. “ _Please_ , kill me!”

“Y/N?” he whispered weakly, forgetting for a moment where he was.

“I don’t want to live…please kill me…” She gulped and then shuddered and roughly shook the front of his shirt again, still crying.

“STOP!” roared Ernie Macmillan suddenly from across the room, and Draco was very thankful that he had done it, because he had just been about to do it himself. His entire body was shaking.

“It has to play itself out,” said Amycus Carrow, who was clearly enjoying all of this immensely.

Draco only made it through the rest of the time because he imagined in great detail all of the different ways that he could murder Amycus Carrow. But finally, after the longest three minutes of his life, Y/N slumped completely over again, and the sobbing stopped, and she lay so still that Draco’s brain went blank with panic, reaching out halfway across the desk to touch her before he remembered himself and snapped his hand back again.

“Yes, yes, they’re alive,” said Amycus in a rather bored voice, in response to same gasps from around the room as their partners did the exact same thing. “They’ll be quite weak for a while.”

“Water,” Y/N whispered suddenly, voice cracking.

_Soon_ , thought Draco desperately. _It’s almost over,_ _please_ _just relax…_

She raised her head. Her eyes were bloodshot and tired, and the vague look of horror was still in them. It made Draco feel sick all over again. She frowned a little in clear bewilderment, staring at him as if uncertain he was real, and then lowered her head again with a little moan of misery.

“Now,” said Amycus, “We’ve seen it in action. I want a foot long essay discussing the side effects of the potion and various situations where it might be useful, to be handed in next week. Now get out of my sight.”

Draco kept his face carefully blank as he began slowly gathering up his things.

He noted out of the corner of his eye that Y/N, too, was moving, starting to stand, but her knees were trembling so badly from the after effects of the potion that she would have collapsed had Draco not automatically stepped forward and took her arm to steady her.

“Thank you,” she muttered hoarsely, not looking up at him.

Hannah Abbott appeared behind Y/N then, and she was gazing curiously at Draco before tucking one arm around her shoulders. Susan Bones was leaning on her other side, clearly also sick from having taken the potion. Draco tried to catch her eye, but Y/N still didn’t look up at him as Hannah led them away.

He finished gathering his things and hurried out of the classroom, heart in his throat.

He made it all the way up to the Head Tower even though his breathing was shortening dangerously.

He was gasping by the time he finally got to his stash of Calming Concoction in his Head Dorm bedroom. He fumbled with the lock on his door before knocking back a triple dose with still trembling fingers and collapsing face down onto his bed, half hoping that he would sleep and never wake up.

* * *

“Draco! Hey! Draco, _wake_ _up_!”

It was Pansy’s voice, and it was shriller than usual. He felt her hand on his shoulder, gripping fiercely and shaking, her fingernails digging slightly into the flesh.

Draco didn’t jolt awake–it was a groggy return to the world, the light harsh as his eyes began to squint open. His body felt heavy, his fingers stiff and sluggish when he raised his hand in a weak attempt to swat Pansy away.

“Wa…ssit?” he mumbled incoherently, still struggling to put her in focus.

“Draco, what the fuck? How much did you take?” She sounded angry.

“Wh-what?” 

He wasn’t comprehending, but he did finally get his eyes to focus and saw Pansy hovering above him, her face pale and scrunched in clear displeasure.

“You’ve been asleep for almost _twenty_ hours, I–” She broke off, sounding choked, but her eyes were angry when she glared down at him. “I kept getting more worried when I didn’t see you this morning, I had to break into your fucking room to make sure you were alive, you absolute bloody _idiot_ –” But still, despite the furious look on her face and her biting words, her voice faltered again.

“What time is it?” Draco muttered, peering at the sunlight filtering in through his window and wincing.

“Almost two,” said Pansy. “On Saturday.” She then narrowed her eyes at him. “You also didn’t show up for your mentoring program last night.”

“My student didn’t show up the week before!” snapped Draco indignantly, though if he were being completely honest he had entirely forgotten about it after the fiasco that had been Defense Against the Dark Arts class. Even if he had remembered, though, he was quite sure he still probably would have skipped it in favor of some escapism. “I haven’t even met her yet!”

Pansy cursed quietly, but then her dark eyes softened for a moment as they lingered on him. “Everyone is fine,” she said quietly. “Everyone that took that potion yesterday is fine, Draco.”

“Great, that makes it better,” snapped Draco, swinging his legs over the bed and raking a hand through his hair. He had to fight a shudder as images from the day before began to flit across his mind.

Pansy sighed, standing up off the side of his bed and throwing him a disdainful look. “Don’t miss it next week again. I’ll talk to your student too.”

“Fuck’s sake,” he muttered irritably. “As if that’s important right now, Pans.”

“It _is_ important,” she insisted sharply. “It’s important for those kids and it’s especially important to _me_ , and don’t forget–”

“No guilt tripping,” Draco shot back firmly. “I know.”

Pansy gave a haughty sniff and held her chin up high. “Good then. Now get your arse down and eat, and go for a walk or something. If I don’t see you get out and about, I’ll break in again, Draco.”

He grumbled a little but he _was_ feeling hungry, so he followed Pansy’s instructions after she left and slowly and methodically got dressed before making his way down to the Great Hall to eat. His eyes did an automatic sweep, but it was late, and most had eaten lunch already, so there weren’t many people in the Great Hall. Less people to stare at him, at least.

But by the end of the meal he was already getting tired again, and the people that were there were still openly gawking at him, though they would hurriedly look away whenever he caught them staring. This in itself was putting him in such a bad mood that after he was done with lunch he decided that he had seen enough of the fucking castle for the day, and he very mechanically began to make his way right back up to the Head Dorms.

He was sweeping through what he thought was an empty corridor, but he immediately realized it wasn’t empty when he heard the light sniffling coming from a shadowed corner to his right.

Rather startled, he glanced over to see a little girl, her knees bunched to her chest as she sobbed pitifully; but upon hearing his footsteps she looked up with a startled little gasp of fear, eyes widening at the tall boy towering over her.

Draco could tell that she was a first year, and normally he would have just kept on walking, but something made him stop. Maybe it was the Slytherin colors on the girl’s robes. Maybe it was the memory–it felt so distant now, another lifetime, almost–of stumbling upon _her_ in a corridor so long ago in a similar position.

“What is it?” Draco asked, rather impatiently. He suddenly noted the piece of paper crumpled in the little girl’s trembling hand. He took a step forward. “Are you lost? And what’s that?”

She let out a little squeak of fear when he took that step, her feet kicking hard into the floor, scrambling to push back even further into the wall as if hoping it could swallow her whole. He halted immediately, pursing his lips down at her and the way she was looking at him in sheer terror.

“Give me that,” he snapped, holding out his hand.

_Stupid First Years, always getting lost…where are the damn Slytherin prefects, anyway…if it were any other bloody House, I wouldn’t even bother…_

Her hand shaking, she reluctantly held out the paper, and Draco snatched it away to read it. The first thing he saw at the top was the name.

“I’m your mentor!” he exclaimed, moving his gaze to narrow his eyes at her. “You’re Emma. Why didn’t you show up the first week?”

She didn’t seem capable of answering. She was visibly trembling in obvious horror, and then he saw her eyes do the familiar flick to his forearm. He had rolled them up while eating, but he yanked his sleeves back down now, scowling.

“Don’t miss it again. I don’t necessarily want to be there either, but Pansy will have my fucking head if we don’t follow through,” he ordered moodily, eyes again lowering to the paper that she had been carrying.

It was a letter: a letter addressed to all first years, explaining that Hogwarts needed official proof of parentage…it was best to owl home now so that the proper paperwork could be arranged for…it would need to be presented to the Carrows to ensure that the school retain high quality pupils, and remained free from Muggle influence and the dangers associated with non-magical folk…

Draco didn’t need to keep reading.

“What are you so upset about?” he asked finally as he thrust it back to her, though his stomach was squirming uncomfortably and he was feeling sick all over again, wishing he hadn’t just eaten. “You’re a Slytherin. Obviously this won’t be a problem for you.”

Her eyes widened even more in fear, and she let out a little choked cry and began to sob even harder before she simply scrambled up and sprinted away from him, as fast as her legs could carry her.

Draco just stared after her, completely befuddled. But then, slowly, he comprehended what may have just happened with a growing sense of dread.

_But that was impossible, wasn’t it?_

He stood there gaping in the direction she had left for quite a while, despite the fact that she was long gone. 

He didn’t even want to think about what would happen to that little girl if his suspicions were correct.

Furthermore, he wasn’t quite sure why he fucking _cared_.

Shaking himself a little, he slowly started walking again.

But he found that he was not able to feel any less disturbed.

How many first years had gotten those letters? 

What would the Carrows do to them? The Carrows, he knew, would not be above torturing children. Or making others do it. 

And the Carrows _hated_ him.

_What if…_

He shook his head, trying to clear it of all the possible abhorrent scenarios.

It didn’t work.

He hadn’t realized he had stopped walking until he had been half slumped against a corridor wall for a few long moments, using one hand to lean on it for support as he tried to catch his breath. The new, horrible thoughts were intertwining with the memories of yesterday that he had been trying to keep at bay ever since he had woken up.

His fingers were shaking again as he slipped his hand into his pocket, his chest loosening a little in relief when he felt the familiar vial there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: language, psychological torture, mentions of torture, deals with substance abuse and suicidal type thoughts/themes. i told you it was a dark war fic and i was not kidding


	5. Five

You spent most of Saturday avoiding your friends.

Part of the reason was that the potion you had taken the day before had left you with strange feelings–melancholy, mostly, a terrible, lingering sadness that was beginning to disappear but was still, irritatingly, hanging in your subconscious as late as Saturday afternoon.

After a long, slow walk around the lake at least five times, you made your way inside and decided to go up to the Astronomy Tower rather than the Common Room. There, at least, you had more chances of being alone for just a little while longer.

All of your thoughts of being alone, however, were shattered when you were traipsing along a corridor and spotted a painfully familiar tall, blonde head at the end of it. Your chest did a little lurch when you saw him; and then you noted that he was straightening up, having been bowed over, and you saw the glint of a glass vial in his fingers.

Immediately you knew what it was, and you spoke without thinking, voice sharp.

“Don’t drink that, Malfoy.”

He stiffened, and then turned slowly to look at you hurrying toward him, your lips pursed.

And then he narrowed his eyes and raised it up to his lips anyway, in a clear act of defiance, the slight smirk on his face purely to irritate you, it seemed. And rage, for a split second, blinded you to logic. You didn’t care if it would be loud, or if someone would hear. You covered the distance between you in a few hurried steps, snatched it from his surprised fingers, and threw the vial dramatically to the ground, where it smashed loudly, shards flying everywhere and the potion spilling all over the floor.

“What the _hell_ did you just do?” he hissed furiously, rounding on you after staring at the damage in a long moment of shock.

“Doing you a favor,” you said stubbornly, folding your arms resolutely.

“I fucking–I _need_ that–”

“Exactly,” you shot back, glaring. “That’s the problem.”

His eyes glinted dangerously. “It’s not your business what I do anymore, Y/N.”

You laughed bitterly. “You say that as if I was ever let in on your business, Draco.” You hated the sarcasm and anger in your voice. You wanted to be aloof. It never seemed to work.

“You’re giving me a headache,” he growled. “What is it you want, exactly?”

Before you could answer, you heard quick footsteps coming from another corridor. Very close footsteps, heading your direction. You only had time to briefly consider sprinting away–other people seeing you speaking (or arguing) with Draco would be difficult to explain–but Draco acted quicker. He flicked his wand, cleaning up the smashed vial and the puddle of potion on the floor, and then pulled you quickly and quietly around the corner and behind a hidden tapestry.

“How did you know this was here?” you whispered irritably, to try and ignore the fact that it was very close quarters and you were practically pressed against his chest.

“Lot of nighttime walks last year,” he breathed back. “Needed hiding places. Now be quiet.”

You bit your tongue to keep from retorting, but then you were immediately quailed by the sound of the Carrows’ voices, sounding dangerously close. “–tried to tell him that it would be good for them, but he wasn’t having it…at least he allowed it for the sixth and seventh years….Snape can be such a coward. But that dirty Squib caretaker will be pleased, at least…”

Their voices had faded around the corner. It was a full minute that you both stood, breathing harshly and nervously but trying to be quiet about it, before Draco finally muttered very sarcastically, “Sounds like fun plans they’re making, doesn’t it?”

You blinked up at him in surprise. “Aren’t you supposed to be on their side?”

“I’m on whatever side that lets me survive and come out of this unscathed,” he said slowly.

“Unscathed? Draco, you already can’t make it through a day without vials of Calming Concoction.”

His eyes glinted again. “Been keeping an eye on me, have you? And what happened to _Malfoy_?”

“It started last year,” you told him tiredly. “Did you think I didn’t notice? It’s harmful, and–”

“ – and last I checked, you’re not supposed to give a shit,” he snapped, cutting you off.

“Of course I do, you fucking idiot!” you hissed back, poking him lightly on the chest and glaring up at him. “You think that I wasn’t still worried sick all summer? That I’m not worrying now? I don’t just _drop_ people and not care about them or their feelings, and especially not…”

You faltered. Something had flickered in his eyes. It reminded you of the very first time he had kissed you, up in your alcove. You looked down to your feet, swallowing hard in an attempt to move the lump in your throat, and when you looked back up his face was very careful.

“I…should have asked already how you’re feeling,” he finally said, very quietly. “After yesterday.”

“I’m fine,” you said, a little shortly. You did not want to discuss your potion experience with him.

“I did want to check on you,” he muttered, alternating between looking at the floor and glancing at you with his eyes suddenly very intense, that familiar color of melting steel.

“Really,” you said, voice a little gentler now. “I was just fine. Water helped.” You smiled faintly.

“It’s just,” he continued, looking strained. His hand twitched at his side, as if he were about to touch your arm or your hand but then had thought better of it. “Just because things are over doesn’t mean…” He looked suddenly very frustrated, looking down again to peer gruffly at his feet. “Obviously I still don’t want bad things to happen to you. You’re not…dropped.”

You weren’t sure how your hands had made their way to be on his chest. Or when, exactly, his face had gotten so close to yours, or when his eyes had taken on the blazing quality that you associated with last year, that you sometimes drew to memory when you felt loneliest.

And suddenly, you wanted to kiss him again.

You didn’t _want_ to want it. But you wanted to anyway, and you thought you had seen his eyes dart down to look at your mouth; yes, you certainly weren’t imagining it, nor were you imagining the heavy tension suddenly in the air.

There was a long, electric silence as your heart struggled with your head.

Your heart won.

And your head justified it by whispering faintly: _Just one last time_ …

As soon as you pressed your lips to his, he brought his hands to cup your jaw. It was both familiar and new again, after months without kissing him. His lips were softer than you remembered; his cologne somehow more intoxicating than before.

So much was the same: the butterflies in your stomach, the immediate, pressing desire for more, the feeling of his mouth molded to yours or his fingers gently moving across the skin on your face. But he was also more tentative, perhaps, more reserved, and you were only vaguely beginning to realize this when he stiffened, quickly pulled away, and took a very pointed step back.

You stared at his neck rather than his face, feeling how hot your cheeks were getting from shame, thankful it was somewhat dark behind the tapestry. “Th-that wasn’t appropriate,” you whispered finally. “I ended things, and…” You cleared your throat and also shuffled back. “I’m sorry.”

He just nodded curtly, eyes blank. “Yes,” he agreed, rather roughly.

You bit your lip and stared at the floor again. And then you heard him sigh, and when you cautiously looked at him he was pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration. “I can’t do this anymore,” he burst out finally, looking at you with fire in his eyes. Not the kissing sort of fire that had just been there–an irritated, helpless sort. “We can’t keep on–” He faltered and then started again, stronger than before. “You and I clearly need to set some post break-up terms, Y/N.”

You swallowed hard and nodded slowly. He was right, of course. It felt like every single one of your run-ins with him so far had been both painful and disastrous. “Okay. What do you suggest?”

“Probably no snogging, for starters,” he said dryly, arching an eyebrow.

Flames engulfed your face all over again. “I already apologized,” you snapped. “You don’t need to make me feel worse, Draco–”

“I kissed you back, if you didn’t notice, so I’m not trying to–Merlin, would you stop being so bloody difficult? I’m just trying to–to _communicate_ ,” he growled, shocking you into an apologetic silence before he sighed and massaged his temples roughly.

When he glanced at you again afterward, you saw that his eyes were tired. So very tired. “I don’t want to fight with you anymore,” he said finally.

“Me neither,” you said sadly.

“But you’re driving me mad,” he continued, though his voice didn’t have malice. He still just looked and sounded exhausted. “You’re sending me…mixed signals.”

As his eyes darted about your face, another impulse hit you.

Never had you so badly wanted to go into his head; just to see what he was thinking, to get an idea of what he was feeling, to find out, maybe, how things had been for him at home over the summer, because there was no way he would tell you and you were dying to know–

“Don’t come in my head,” he warned suddenly, looking very suspicious, and you blinked.

“I’m–I wasn’t–” You sputtered.

“You were. You get this look on your face when you’re thinking about it. I saw it at that first prefect meeting too, with Pansy. Don’t go in her head either,” he said firmly. “It’s rude.”

His blatant defense of her made your blood boil. “ _She’s_ rude. Don’t tell me what I can and can’t do with Parkinson,” you snapped, glaring at him.

He scoffed. “Jealousy doesn’t suit you,” he drawled, rolling his eyes.

“Says the hypocrite who had to step in when another boy was hugging me,” you hissed.

He looked briefly surprised, and then his face twisted in irritation. “You _hated_ his hug but were too polite to say so. It was all over your face, Y/N. I was doing you a favor!”

“Bullshit,” you snapped. “You were doing that for _your_ benefit, Draco, not mine, and right after lecturing _me_ for being selfish. _And_ about mixed signals.”

His eyes flashed and his fists clenched, and you braced yourself for whatever biting remark would come out of his mouth next. But to your surprise, he deflated, shoulders slumping ever so slightly. He glanced down at his feet. “Right,” he muttered. “You’re–yeah. It won’t happen again.”

You gaped at him, shocked, before composing yourself. “We’re fighting again,” you said quietly.

“Yes,” he said, frowning deeply. “This is…breaking up like this is…new territory for me.”

“Breaking up like what?” you asked carefully, surprised at his admission. He was showing as little emotion as possible throughout the conversation, but he was still allowing his pride to take an uncharacteristic beating today.

He glanced up, eyes like melted iron again as they flicked about your face. “With someone I actually gave a shit about,” he said simply.

You nodded, trying not to show on your face how your heart was twisting violently in your chest. “It’s new for me too,” you admitted, watching him cautiously.

He sighed again. His eyes were still ranging over your features, and his face had gone suddenly blank once more. “Do you still want to be with me, Y/N?” he asked.

So carefully neutral. No emotion infused whatsoever. A simple, matter-of-fact question.

He had not asked, you realized, whether you still loved him, which was a different thing entirely.

And the smart answer to this, the right one, and the one you knew you had to stick with, was:

“No,” you whispered.

“I thought so,” he said, nodding curtly. “Neither do I. But–”

“Mixed signals,” you agreed quickly, hating that his casual admission of not wanting you anymore still hurt. After all, you had said the same, and what the hell had you expected? “I know. It’s just…that doesn’t mean it’s easy for me to see you with someone else so…soon. That’s all.”

He exhaled sharply, brow furrowing before weariness filled his features again. “Okay. And like I said, I won’t…I also won’t interfere in your…stuff. That was…” He let out another breath, as if it cost him everything to say it. “That was wrong of me.”

You suddenly had the bizarre urge to laugh at how difficult it was for him to admit things like this, but you knew that would not make any of this easier, nor did you want to discourage him from doing more of it, so instead you just asked gently, “What now?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted.

“I…” You stared at the floor. “I think we should have some distance. You…hurt me, Draco.”

You saw his feet shuffle. When you looked up, you saw his throat move in a way that suggested he was having difficulty swallowing. “Yes,” he said, very quietly. “The feeling is mutual.”

“I–” You suddenly felt like there was sand in your mouth. “I didn’t know.”

He laughed very bitterly, throwing you a rather contemptuous look. “You thought I liked it when you broke up with me, or something?”

“No, of course not,” you hastened to say, biting your lip anxiously. “You seemed more angry with me than upset, and I also just didn’t think…” You struggled to articulate your feelings; it was difficult with his gaze on you. “You just never wanted an official relationship, and you also never really said…” You stopped again, face heating. “I just always made it so clear how much I cared,” you finally continued very quietly, not daring to look at him. “And I never thought that you–”

“I know what you thought,” he said, very brusquely, cutting you off and making you look up to meet his eyes in shock. But then he transformed yet again; he went back to looking tired and resigned, staring at his shoes for a very long time. “I am well aware of how I lost you,” he finally muttered, barely audible.

A strange sort of choking sound exited your mouth, and your chest tightened.

But his head snapped up, and his eyes quickly grew hard when he saw your reaction, his face twisting in something like a sneer. “Don’t get all…sentimentally _Hufflepuff_ ,” he warned, his voice suddenly much sharper than it had been before. “I already told you that I don’t want to get back together with you anymore. I just meant–I meant that I know now why we didn’t work.”

You blinked, swiping furiously at your eyes and inwardly cursing yourself and the horrid hope. “Right. I–I know. Yes. But–but it’s getting better already, right?” you said desperately, trying to quell the horrible violent wave of affection and guilt you were now feeling. “This is…good. This conversation. Right? Making terms. No snogging. Being civil. No interfering.”

He nodded, and when he spoke his voice was even. “Yes,” he said simply.

It was silent for a long moment, neither of you sure what, exactly, to say. “Well,” you said finally, a little awkwardly. “I should probably–”

“Yeah,” he agreed quickly, stuffing his hands in his pockets and letting out another sharp breath.

You had stepped over to the tapestry and were about to duck out when you turned back. “Draco?”

He glanced up. His eyes were cautious. “Yes?”

“I–I do think you should drink less of that stuff,” you mumbled, biting your lip and flashing him a concerned glance. “It’s not healthy, you know? I’m…worried. About you.”

He just nodded once in return, fixing his gaze on the floor with a little frown.

When you ducked out of the tapestry, you felt better than when you had entered it, even though leaving him behind was still hard. Feeling rejected was still hard, and painful, even though you had technically done the same to him. You still wanted to run back and jump in his arms, and for him to let you, and you still wanted it all to be different. The sadness wasn’t gone, and neither was the indignation, and you had a feeling those parts would take some time to fade.

But at least now there seemed to be a tentative truce between the two of you–at least you had finally talked. _Really_ talked. And it hadn’t ended badly, exactly.

That was probably why, as you slowly made your way to the Common Room, your chest felt less tight than it had for a long, long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: language, mentions of addiction, and (like most chapters so far lol) angst & poor, confused characters struggling with break-up stuff


	6. Six

The weekend couldn’t be entirely relaxing–not with the threat of Monday hanging over your head.

And indeed, there was a hard ball of anxiety in your stomach the entire day as you went to your classes, mechanically took notes, tried desperately to pay attention in class and to not think about what would happen that evening at the prefect meeting.

And you were even on the schedule to patrol the corridors afterward, too.

Perfect.

Terry Boot accompanied you and Ernie on the walk down to the dungeons. Draco, you saw almost immediately, was already there. Pansy was sitting beside him, so close that she was touching, almost nestled in to his side. You hadn’t seen him since your run-in over the weekend behind the tapestry. Briefly, your eyes met his before you moved your gaze away and hastily to the floor, trying to quell the thudding of your traitorous heart.

It wasn’t until the three of you had sat down—clustered over with Neville and Parvati, who were murmuring quietly to each other—that you saw, with horror, that the cauldron full of the Potion and Despair was in the room, the green contents bubbling just as merrily as they had on Friday.

You stiffened instantly. “Why is that here?” you whispered hoarsely to Terry on your right side.

You felt rather than saw him looking at you—you had not yet looked away from the cauldron.

The prospect of taking that again…

Cold fear, powerful, like waves, crashed over you, making you a little dizzy.

You hadn’t even realized that you had let out a little whimper until you heard Terry murmur in concern in your ear, “Y/N? Were you one of the people who had to take that last week?”

Nodding, you turned to look at him with wide, horrified eyes. “I can’t do it again,” you whispered back, even hoarser than before. You sounded pleading, even to your own ears; as if Terry would be able to make the decision whether or not you experienced _that_ all over again. “I–I–”

Terror had rendered you nearly speechless, and your gaze darted back to the green potion. You were so distracted that you barely heard Terry’s thoughts when he laced his fingers through yours and squeezed your hand.

“It’s okay,” he said back, very quietly. “Maybe it’s just stored here? It _is_ the Potions classroom.”

You knew he was lying. Or, more accurately, that he didn’t believe that himself, but that he also was desperately wishing it were true. “Maybe,” you mumbled back, because what else could you do?

Your eyes moved to Draco’s again. It was automatic.

You didn’t really mean to.

But there had been a version of him, in some the visions that you had seen under the influence of that potion. It had taken a couple of hours afterward to sort out that it hadn’t been real—that horrible substance blurred reality and fantasy for a time.

And even just seeing it in that cauldron again seemed to have triggered a response to assure yourself that the Draco Malfoy in some of the visions—cruel, cold, trying to hurt you, relishing in your despair and pain and lying with a silver tongue—was not the Draco Malfoy sitting across the room. Indeed, you saw that he was already watching you, a little frown on his face, a crease on his forehead; but this time he was the one to look away almost as quickly as he had caught your eye.

Still, it was long enough to see that his eyes were…normal Draco’s eyes.

You felt a little more relaxed.

Only a little.

“What did you see?” you heard Terry mutter into your ear.

“Terrible things,” you replied quietly, shuddering. “I wanted to die. I don’t want to—I can’t explain—"

“You don’t have to talk about it,” he assured you kindly, squeezing your hand again.

There was no time, anyway.

It was precisely then that not only one, but _both_ the Carrows walked into the room, and you promptly began to shake at just the sight of them.

A silence fell as the prefects and Draco and Pansy all regarded the Carrows warily, waiting for whatever horrors awaited you, waiting for what would come out of their mouths.

“As I’m sure you all know,” said Alecto Carrow softly, striding forward, “Your positions are an important part of discipline at this school.”

There was a long pause. You wondered how this witch could always say the word _discipline_ in a way that was so positively terrifying without even necessarily meaning to. Her beady little eyes swept around the room. “Which means that we all have to learn how to give it, yes? And we also have to make sure that none of you are letting things slide that you shouldn’t be.”

“Yes. _None_ of you have filed any reports for detention,” continued Amycus, glaring around at everyone. “I find it hard to believe that nothing has occurred the past two weeks that has warranted detention. I think it’s something else—you’re all being soft.”

“Can’t have that,” agreed Alecto nastily.

“You also can’t force us to turn kids over to you for torture,” said Neville Longbottom loudly and roughly.

“No,” lamented Amycus, walking up and standing menacingly over Neville. “That’s true, blood traitor. But we _can_ make you drink that—” He pointed at the cauldron, and you suddenly didn’t feel you could breathe, “—and then submit some of _you_ to torture.”

There was a long, loud silence, though there was a curious and horrible ringing in your ears. Your heart hurt terribly, pounding against your chest.

“So for your cheek, Longbottom,” said Amycus coldly, “Some of your friends will have to pay.” His eyes ranged over the group of you, and you wanted to shrink, to become invisible, but it didn’t work, because he paused at you and Terry, and then he smiled nastily. “You two look comfortable. Get up.”

Your legs were lead. Your mouth was full of ashes. Automatically, you began to shake your head, eyes flying to the cauldron of that potion, imagining drinking it again. _No, no, no…_

“Take me instead,” burst out Neville, very desperately, springing to his feet and rushing forward. “I’m the one that said something, go on, take me!”

Alecto Carrow flicked her wand, and with a yelp of pain, Neville’s knees buckled underneath him. “Sit back down and shut your dirty blood traitor mouth,” she hissed furiously, and then she glared at you and Terry. “Get up!”

“If I might,” drawled Draco’s voice suddenly, and your wide eyes found his face, though the room was beginning to go a little blurry from the panic. Or perhaps that was just the tears starting to form. Either way, you could tell that he was looking at the Carrows, his facial expression calm and neutral. “Boot and Y/L/N both have patrols this evening. They’ll need their wits about them to patrol the corridors after this, won’t they? So perhaps another…choice would be better for this week.”

Alecto glared at Draco, but seemed to recognize the truth in his words, for she only nodded stiffly. “Very well,” she said. “Patil, then. Get up.”

Parvati Patil, to her credit, stood up defiantly, her chin high, even though Neville also struggled to his feet again as well, still wincing from whatever curse Alecto had shot at his legs. “Take ME!” he insisted in a growl, rushing forward, but everyone in the room gasped when Amycus Carrow stepped forward and decked him in the face with his fist, not bothering with a wand, and Neville collapsed to the ground again with a strangled yelp, clutching at his face. There had been a crunching sound, and there was blood. It sounded like Amycus had broken his nose.

“I can do patrols after,” insisted Terry, though he wisely didn’t stand. “I can—”

“It’s Patil this week, and that’s final, so all of you shut it,“ snapped Amycus. “Hurry up,” he barked at Parvati. “Go drink the potion. A whole goblet full.”

Though her face was full of dread and fear, Parvati’s steps did not betray this. She bravely walked up, dipped the goblet into the cauldron, and—your mouth dropped down a little at her own cheek, though you supposed at this point she probably had nothing to lose—after raising it to the Carrows in a sarcastic toast, she tilted the goblet back and drank it all.

Your fingers were squeezed so tightly around Terry’s hand that he probably was losing circulation, but he didn’t complain or comment. All of you had no choice but to watch as the potion’s effects began to mentally torture Parvati Patil; as she gasped and shuddered and collapsed to the floor, and then began to sob, and scream, and rock back and forth with eyes like glass. You knew she was seeing things that weren’t really there. You knew everything that was happening to her.

Neville’s hands were clutching desperately at his hair, watching in fury and concern. It wasn’t long after that Parvati was also begging for death, and you squeezed your eyes shut, unable to watch. Terry’s arms tucked around your shoulders, pulling you closer to his side.

“Excellent,” said Alecto, grinning over the sounds of poor Parvati’s suffering. “Now Parkinson, stand up. Our Head Girl can take some initiative, yes?”

Everyone’s gazes whipped over to Pansy Parkinson, who looked suddenly much paler than before.

Her dark eyes were wide, and her face twisted in undeniable fear. You had never seen her look like that before. A horrible part of you wished you could relish in it. That you could be smug about how even choosing that side hadn’t really helped her in the end.

But you couldn’t.

All you could feel was pity and sympathy as you watched her slowly get to her feet, gripping her wand.

“Torture her,” said Amycus casually, waving a hand at Parvati Patil, who was still writhing and sobbing on the floor. “Cruciatus Curse, Parkinson. Show your prefects how it’s done.”

You wanted to be sick, and, judging by the look on her face, so did Pansy Parkinson.

She raised her wand.

_I can’t watch_ , you thought wildly, through your tears. _This is barbaric, it’s disgusting, I can’t watch, this isn’t happening, it can’t be…_

But it _was_ happening, it _was_ real, and you saw that Pansy Parkinson’s wand was vibrating in the air, try as she might to steady her hand. She cast a desperate look at the Carrows, as if they might tell her that this was some sort of joke and she could go sit back down.

Parvati let out a particularly loud scream then, and everyone jumped, but no one worse than Pansy.

“If you don’t do it right now, Parkinson, you’ll join her and someone else—” he gestured lazily to the prefects, “—will be asked to take care of the both of you. And if _they_ aren’t willing, the chain continues until we find someone who is. Or alternatively, I’ll be the one that has to do the job to the lot of you, and you had all better pray fervently that doesn’t happen,” snapped Amycus. “So cast the Curse at her right now, or you’ll get the same thing yourself.”

Pansy bit her lip and then shuddered, looking positively horrorstruck. She was frozen, her wand trembling more violently in the air than it had been before. Still, she just stared at Parvati, wand drawn and pointed but seemingly unable to utter any sound.

Draco suddenly got to his feet. Everyone’s gazes moved to him.

His gray eyes were blank as he swept forward, knocking Pansy’s wand arm out of the way as he stepped purposefully between her and Parvati Patil. He slipped his wand out of his robes, raised his arm, and after a moment’s silence he said, very clearly and carefully, “ _Crucio_.”

Harsh blue light shot out of his wand and collided with Parvati’s chest.

Her scream was terrible to behold. Worse than any of the screams so far. You gasped and turned away, finding nothing but Terry’s chest but not caring, burying your face in it because it was a way to not look, to not see it happening even if you couldn’t avoid the sounds. His arms came around you but you still didn’t hear his mind. You wished you could.

It was Parvati you heard. Her skin was being flayed from her body, she was being dipped in acid, all her bones were being broken, she was being crushed, this was pain at its worst; let me die, she was begging, death, _please_ —

It stopped. You were sobbing brokenly into Terry’s shirt, clutching at him for dear life.

“Weak, Drakey boy,” snarled Alecto Carrow finally. “One more. _Crucio_.”

Parvati’s yells were strangled this time; your head was on fire, tears pouring down your cheeks as you felt the intensity in her thoughts. This was worse—so much worse—than the last one. That much you could tell, that much you knew; Alecto Carrow’s Cruciatus was one thousand times that of Draco’s, and when Parvati finally stopped screaming and it was over, you didn’t hear her anymore.

Panicked, you looked about wildly, thinking that she had died—but she had only gone unconscious.

It was Terry’s head that came barreling at you now, full force in the absence of Parvati’s loudness, and he was radiating disgust and fury and concern, and you pushed away, leaning over, suddenly quite certain you were going to be sick. You choked, and felt the burning of bile coming up in your throat, but nothing came out. You just coughed some more, feeling Terry gingerly pat your back.

“You get the point,” said Amycus Carrow finally. “Though Parkinson, next time you’ll do better. Drakey can’t step in to save you every time. He’s not the one here who needs torture practice.” He laughed, and when you looked up, eyes filled with tears and throat still burning, Draco’s eyes were blazing at Amycus and his mouth was pursed in a thin line, but he didn’t say anything.

“We’re done here,” said Alecto harshly. “Get out. Be better next week.”

Neville immediately stepped forward to pick up Parvati, glaring at the Carrows as if daring them to defy him, blood still pouring down his face.

They didn’t. They merely waved a hand at him, looking mildly amused, and he picked her up, her head lolling horribly like some sort of doll, and left, presumably to go to the Hospital Wing.

Terry’s arms were still firm around your shoulders and Ernie was on your other side as you left the room as quickly as possible, without looking back.

“ _Fuck_ ,” said Ernie hoarsely after you had all gotten a few corridors away.

Under normal circumstances you might have been amused to hear language like that coming out of the always pompous Ernie MacMillan. As it was, nothing about it was funny in the slightest.

“Can you patrol?” Terry asked in your ear. “I can handle it alone, Y/N—"

“No, I’m…I’m fine,” you whispered, shaking your head a little, hoping that would rid you of the images.

But there were too many. Parvati’s sobs and screams under the potion had been bad enough. Then there had been Draco, torturing her, eyes blank, but still unable to spare her from what he surely had guessed would be the much worse torture of the Carrows. You had known Draco tortured people; Amycus Carrow had mentioned it in class. It was another thing entirely to see it. Worse still was that his sleeves had been rolled up, his Dark Mark shining brightly upon the skin of his wand arm.

The inside of Parvati’s head had been unavoidable as well, and you shuddered again as you remembered it, tried to expel it away so that you could get through the rest of the evening.

“You seem unwell,” said Terry uncertainly.

“Not surprising, after witnessing that,” you snapped, immediately feeling bad when his eyes widened in surprise and hurt at your tone. He didn’t know, of course, that you had more sensory information to deal with than the rest. “I’m sorry,” you muttered. “I’m…”

“Yeah,” he said, nodding. “Me too. We’re all on edge. It’s okay.”

You gave him a grateful smile, walked Ernie to the Hufflepuff dorms together, and then set out on your patrols, with you trying desperately to practice Occulumency the whole time and mostly succeeding. Conversation was regular but about light topics only over the next few hours—perhaps both trying to distract yourselves from the other events of the evening—and the corridors were empty and boring. The time dragged, and you were so, _so_ tired and just wanted to be alone.

But finally the shift ended and, as curfew loomed, you began heading down toward the lower levels, Terry walking you back to the Hufflepuff Common Room. But he stopped and carefully took your arm.

“Y/N,” he said quietly, and you knew that you were going to have to pretend to not know what it was that he was about to say. You could already hear it.

“Yes?” you said, giving him a small smile that you hoped didn’t look forced.

“I…have to tell you something,” he mumbled, a blush spreading over his face. “I hope it doesn’t seem insensitive right now, but…” He hesitated, and then he gave you a small, hopeful smile. “I like you. Er–you know. Fancy you. Have for a while, actually, but wasn’t really brave enough to…er…talk to you.”

“I know,” you said, without thinking, and immediately wanted to kick yourself.

Terry blinked. “Oh. You do?”

“I—I meant that I…guessed that,” you told him kindly.

“Was I that obvious?” He raked a nervous hand through his hair.

You shrugged. “A little. But that’s…it’s okay.”

He looked even more hopeful. “Do you…erm…feel the same?”

“I…” You saw his shoulders slump a little at your hesitation and felt incredibly guilty for it. You wanted to be honest with him as best you could, but this was not going to be easy.

Did you fancy Terry?

No.

You knew what fancying felt like after Draco Malfoy.

It felt like butterflies and an excitement that clogged your throat and your chest and an almost insatiable longing to spend time with and be close to the other. You felt none of those things for Terry; just a friendly affection. But…

What if that could change?

Unwittingly, your mind flitted to your conversation with Draco a mere two days ago. About both of you trying not to interfere. An agreement, essentially, to move on.

Terry was kind and caring. Openly on the right side of this war as well. Half-blood, just like you. Not bad-looking by any means. There could certainly be worse picks, couldn’t there? Draco, strictly speaking, was actually a way less intelligent option. Why couldn’t you want the easy, sensible boy? It was all so very frustrating.

Still, letting Terry hang around in the hopes that you changed your mind seemed cruel and unfair, and so you carefully weighed your next words.

“I…don’t fancy you, Terry, no,” you said quietly, apologetically, biting your lip and hating his crestfallen face. “It’s not you! I swear. You’re wonderful. It’s just that I don’t really…I mean, I used to be with someone. Last year. I’m still not quite ready to—to date again. I don’t quite know if my feelings could ever change toward you or not. It’s hard to tell when I’m all muddled. I don’t want to keep you waiting on a maybe.“

There. That had been honest. You were relieved when you saw Terry’s eyes fill with understanding, and then he nodded slowly, looking curious. “I see. Who was this other person?”

“Doesn’t matter,” you said firmly. “Please don’t tell anyone.”

“I won’t,” he assured you, taking your hand in his and squeezing it. It was silent for a long time before he said your name again, very softly. “Y/N?”

“Yes?”

He was looking hesitant again. “If you wanted, we could try…I mean, maybe I could kiss you? And you could see if—if you feel something?” He gave you an awkward grin. “If I’m being honest, I also just really want to try kissing you. It’s totally fine if you say no, of course, I don’t want to pressure you…“

You thought for a moment.

Perhaps it wouldn’t hurt to try it. Might even be a good thing to do.

It had been a long time since you had kissed anyone else. Maybe you would like it once it happened.

“Okay,” you agreed. “But no promises.”

“Of course,” said Terry quickly, stepping forward. The eagerness he was now feeling had turned the volume in his head up quite a lot, and you struggled harder with the Occulumency so as not to hear him.

His hand squeezed yours again before he leaned forward and pressed his lips very gently against yours.

Terry’s lips were quite nice. Soft. He tasted a bit like butterscotch.

Nothing _objectively_ wrong with him. 

Other girls would probably enjoy this very much.

There were two problems.

It was impossible to tune out his excitable stream of consciousness, which was more than a little uncomfortable in itself. And what was more, your heart still didn’t flutter when he kissed you. Even when he moved one hand to place it carefully on your jaw, you didn’t feel the want or _need_ to draw yourself closer, as you had with…

“What’s this?”

A shrill female voice sounded from over your shoulder, making you jolt in surprise and turn away, cheeks heating. The feeling of mortification only rose when you saw who had spoken, quite possibly the very worst people to show up at the moment: Pansy, flanked by Draco, whose mouth was pressed into a thin line and curled into a slight sneer. What they were doing down here you didn’t know, but you desperately wished they hadn’t shown up. Your gaze caught Draco’s for the third time that evening; he pursed his lips tighter and glanced away, looking resigned and irritable.

Pansy, however, took one sideways glance at Draco and then swept forward quickly, looking positively furious. “What the _hell_ do you think you two are doing? Do you want the Carrows to hear that you’re shirking duties to snog?”

“We’re _not_!” you shot back indignantly, glaring furiously at her and face heating further.” Our patrol is over!”

“Then you go the fuck back to your dormitories!” hissed Pansy.

“It’s not curfew yet,” snapped Terry. “We’re not doing anything wrong, Parkinson, so butt out.”

Draco took a few strides forward before Pansy could open her mouth to retort. His face was calm but his eyes were hard, a blazing light in them. “Ten points from Ravenclaw, Boot.“

“What the actual fuck? _Why_?” exclaimed Terry furiously.

Draco’s eyes flicked him up and down, coldly appraising him. “Your robes are wrinkled,” he drawled finally, casually. “You’re a prefect. Look like it from now on.” And then he walked past Terry, disappearing around the corner and moving faster than usual.

Pansy looked directly at you, eyes promising pain, and you braced yourself. The look on her face was so very different from the scared woman in the dungeons mere hours before.

She walked a few paces forward, stopping when she was practically nose to nose with you.

“If you don’t keep your snogging activities to private venues,” she said, in a low voice so positively threatening and full of venom that you drew back a little, eyes widening, “I promise you that you’ll desperately _wish_ I had reported you to the Carrows rather than deal with you myself. Now get to bed, you fucking bitch. I don’t care if it’s curfew or not.”

“Hey!” called out Terry to the back of her head, for Pansy was already flouncing away, leaving you standing there with your heart pounding uncontrollably and your breathing shaky. “Don’t talk to her like that!” He turned to face you and gave you an awkward sort of smile. “Merlin, did you do something to her in the past to make her target you, or what?”

“No,” you said, feeling how your hands were trembling.

“Hypocrites,” breathed Terry, very irritably. “They’re probably shagging all over the castle on their own rounds.” You winced and felt a painful stabbing in your head, like the beginnings of a headache, and you simply began to hurry off the other direction.

You just mumbled something about being tired when he called your name, not stopping until you had reached the sanctuary of your Common Room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: language, torture, suicidal themes, general fucked up shit, this fic is so fucked wow


	7. Seven

The next two weeks passed without too many horrible events; though at this point Draco was so desensitized that his meter for _horrible_ was probably wildly skewed.

Likely for life.

Not horrible, in this case, only meant that some bad things did not happen as they could have.

For one thing, the Defense Against the Dark Arts classes on Fridays had consisted of theory only, and while the topics they had to take notes on were positively dreadful (now they were moving into the topics of power and control, a clear path into eventually practicing the Imperius Curse which, while not optimal, certainly wouldn’t be as bad as when they got to the Cruciatus), it was preferable to the other week with that horrid potion.

Patrols were also tame; mostly uneventful.

Emma, the child he was mentoring, showed up both weeks for their meetings as she was supposed to, and though it was clear being near him still terrified her, he was pleased to note that she was intelligent. _Very_ intelligent, in fact, and she didn’t need much help from him at all, which mostly left him to space out and stew in his thoughts.

He was taking less Calming Concoction again, and felt less shaky all the time.

Those were all good things, he supposed. Pansy told him to concentrate on those.

The worst part had easily been the Monday evenings, at the prefect meetings, for the Carrows had made good on their promises to torture someone every time there wasn’t enough detention being handed out.

The next example had been Neville Longbottom.

The one after that had been Terry Boot.

Draco did not want to know who would be next.

When he went that Friday evening to meet Emma in the library, she was already there. Her eyes widened when she saw him, but he ignored that as best he could and just flopped into the chair beside her with a little sigh. “Let’s get to it,” he said shortly. “Need any help this week?”

He was expecting a no, and that was what he got. She just shook her head violently and scrambled to get parchment, ink, and books out of her bag, avoiding his eyes.

“Well,” he drawled, inwardly cursing Pansy yet again for making this program and wasting his time, “I’m here if you have any questions…”

She just nodded again, distractedly, before her elbow knocked her ink bottle and sent it flying. It dumped all over the table; right into her parchment, on the books, and spilling over the edges into her lap and, unfortunately, Draco’s. He cursed loudly, was shushed by a very angry Madame Pince, and when he looked over at Emma he saw that she was watching him and looking even more frightened than she ever had before, if that were possible.

And then she burst into tears.

“ _Shush_!” Draco hissed at her, glaring. “We’ll get kicked out! Come on, it’s not that bad, look…” He took out his wand and muttered “ _Scourgify_ ,” to make the ink begin to siphon off their clothes, her books, and her parchment. She watched him do so, but this did not seem to calm her; in fact, she only began crying harder, causing people around the library to stare in suspicion. “Merlin, what is it with you?” whispered Draco crossly. “You’re going to get us—"

“OUT!” screeched Pince, sweeping over to the table. “Calm her down outside of the library, Mr. Malfoy, this is no place to bully first years—”

“Kicked out,” finished Draco dully. “I wasn’t _bullying_ , she just spilled her fucking ink!”

“Watch your language,” squawked Pince. “Now go on, _out_!” She shooed them with her hands and stalked away, and with a deep, long-suffering sigh, Draco began helping Emma gather her things to put right back in her bag. To his irritation, she still had not stopped with the horrendous crying.

“Now look what you’ve done,” muttered Draco crossly, gesturing for her to lead the way out of the library.

She shuffled along, sobbing wretchedly, and as soon as they were in the corridor and it was safe to talk again, he rounded on her. “ _Why_ are you still crying? Didn’t you see I fixed your mess?“

“P-P- _Persephone_!” she wailed, looking positively anguished.

“What are you talking about? Who the _fuck_ is Persephone?” Draco snapped.

“M-m-my kitty! Th-they k- _killed_ her!” Her sobs rose to a whole new volume.

Draco’s stomach dropped; the tone of his voice changed. “Who?” he demanded roughly, though of course he had a very good idea _who_.

“The C- _Carrows_ ,” she moaned. “I was only playing with her in the corridor earlier and they just—laughed and _took_ her and—and—” She let out another distressed wail before dissolving into tears again, the sort of tears where she was taking shuddering breaths and her whole body was shaking.

To his surprise, Draco felt a powerful wave of fury. It tensed all his muscles, rooted him to the spot, and made him vaguely dizzy. He didn’t ever remember feeling indignation on anyone’s behalf that was not his family or Pansy before; except, of course, for Y/N.

He pushed this extremely unwelcome thought away, again asking himself why the _fuck_ he even cared about this, and sighed heavily. “Fucking monsters,” he muttered furiously, more to himself than to her.

That didn’t stop her crying, but it did make her look up with red, watery eyes, regarding him warily. “I p—put her in a box,” she said miserably. “I—I don’t know what to do…“

“I mean, it’s a cat,” said Draco, bewildered. He had never had a pet before, except for his screech owl. And even then, it wasn’t allowed in the house and belonged to the whole family. He had never understood people’s attachments to their animals. “Just put it out into the forest?”

To his utter shock, Emma suddenly glared at him, eyes blazing. “You’re _evil_!” she screeched angrily. “She was _not_ just a cat! She was my _best_ _friend_!” And, still sobbing, she kicked him right in the shin, hard—he cursed again, stumbling at the surprising force behind it—and she sprinted away.

“Fucking hell,” he hissed, furious. She had gone from being afraid of him, to crying uncontrollably, to _kicking_ him in less than ten minutes. Preteen girls were a fucking nightmare.

And yet…

A horrible, nagging feeling persisted throughout dinner.

Even though some of his favorite food was available that evening, it tasted like sawdust in his mouth. His eyes ranged over the staff table, at the Carrows laughing and smirking up there, and anger clenched his stomach into a fist again. Worse still was that he noted Emma was absent from dinner.

Pansy, too, was not there, and so when he was finished eating he had _planned_ to go up to the Head Tower; though his feet clearly had other ideas, for they followed a familiar route, one that he had taken so many times last year.

_She’s best to talk to_ , he convinced himself, knowing that the terms they had set meant he shouldn’t be seeking her out but trying to find a convincing way to do so anyway. _She’ll know what to do. She’s the only one I could talk to. Pansy is too harsh, just like me…_

He ended up waiting nearly two hours by the alcove.

She had been inside of it, just like the first night back at Hogwarts. He had been sitting listlessly against the wall, but when it fluttered open he scrambled to his feet. She froze in the doorway, clearly frightened, but her face relaxed when she saw it was him.

“Y/N?” he asked tentatively. “Could I, er…have a word?”

She looked surprised; he half expected her to tell him no, but then the expression on her face morphed to vague curiosity and she simply nodded, watching him expectantly.

“I…need your advice,” he admitted, stepping toward her and his insides squirming.

Surprise flitted across her face again. “Oh?”

“It’s about the kid I’m mentoring,” he continued. “Emma.”

She looked very hesitant. "Why me? I mean, we’re supposed to be keeping our distance, Draco…”

“Because it’s about…” He grimaced. “ _Feelings_ and things. Otherwise I would have gone to Pansy and not you, obviously, but—” He closed his mouth immediately when he saw her eyes flicker and her face momentarily crumple before she was able to compose it to something more neutral.

Draco cursed inwardly, furious with himself, realizing too late that it had sounded as if Pansy always came first or that he was making some sort of comparison between the two; his words had _hurt_ her. “Sorry,” he muttered quickly, feeling very horrified and his stomach twisting with renewed vigor. “That sounded…I only meant that she does the mentoring program, so—”

“I know,” she said quickly, straightening a little and forcing a smile.

_Well, I’ve royally fucked this up already_ , though Draco grimly. _Just like everything else._

“Well it’s just—it’s about her cat,” he said, rather desperately, in an attempt to gloss over the awkward moment before it turned into a painful silence.

“Her cat,” she repeated, looking at him as if he had gone mad.

“Yes,” he said, feeling more idiotic about this by the minute. “Her cat died. More specifically, the Carrows murdered it right in front of her.”

She gaped at him for a long moment, shocked. “They… _killed_ her cat? Why?”

“You really think those lunatics have a rational reason?” he asked, feeling agitated. “Anyway, she shows up to our study session and won’t stop blubbering, gets us kicked out of the library, and then she’s telling me about her cat, and how it’s her best friend, and I…I don’t know how to handle it, okay?” He felt an uncomfortable heat grow in his neck at the way Y/N was looking at him now; she seemed to be suddenly fighting the urge to smile, so he began to ramble. “And it’s not like I _care_ about her, you know, I just want to know how I can get her to stop the incessant _whining_ and _crying_ so that next week won’t be more of the same, because it’s _massively_ uncomfortable for me—”

“Why come to me then?” she asked, cutting him off with a sigh.

“What?” Draco frowned at her. “I told you, you’re good with…this stuff.”

“Not really. I’m bad with people, remember?” she reminded him, pointing at her head with a raised eyebrow. “Mind reader and all? And anyway, more likely than not, by the time you see her next week she’ll be able to compose herself for that hour that she has to study with you. And it will no longer be your problem, just like you say that you want.” She looked amused again as she gazed up at him. “So if you _really_ don’t care about making that little girl feel better, Draco, you wouldn’t be talking to me. Right?”

He just gaped at her as the truth of her words sunk in; and then she smiled. Really smiled.

He realized that he didn’t remember seeing her smile yet this year; not a _real_ smile, anyway, and all he could do was stare at her in a stunned sort of silence.

“Just be nice to her,” she said kindly, tentatively patting his shoulder. “Pets are really important to a lot of people. Almost like…another human. A really good friend, you know? I had a dog growing up and I was _devastated_ when he died. My dad helped me bury him.” Y/N paused, tilting her head. “You have good intentions. I know you’re capable of handling it yourself, Draco.”

He recognized the clear dismissal; and she stepped away before he could respond, leaving him there to process her words and feeling both stupid and rather dumbfounded.

“Damn it,” he muttered finally, sweeping in the direction of the Slytherin Common Room.

Emma was there, thankfully, saving him from having to scour the fucking castle for her, because he was still mildly irritated that some part of him was feeling forced to do this at all.

Her eyes were red and she was hunched over some parchment at a table, twirling her quill listlessly in her fingers and looking miserable.

He settled in the chair opposite her; she froze and slowly lifted her head, and then let out a little squeak of terror, nearly falling out of her chair.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he said, rolling his eyes. “You can quit acting like that. Though kicking me like you did was horribly rude, you know.”

She just bit her lip and stared at him with wide, cautious eyes.

Draco sighed heavily. “Go get her,” he told her.

“Why?” she whispered.

“Just do it,” he ordered, forcing himself not to sound too irritated, and she complied, standing slowly and only taking her eyes from him when she was almost at the door to the girl’s dormitory. When she returned, she was holding a shoe box and she was trembling with tears again.

Draco held out his hands. “Here,” he said. “I can carry her. Come with me.”

She looked very distrusting but seemed both too afraid and curious to argue, and so, sniffling, she handed over the box to Draco and fell into step beside him. He could feel her eyes on him almost the entire time they were walking, but she didn’t speak, and he didn’t say anything either. He had no idea what to say, anyway. And so it was silent, all the way across the grounds and until they reached Draco’s destination, which was a large garden area behind the Hogwarts greenhouses.

When they stopped walking, she finally spoke. “M-Malfoy?” Her voice was trembling.

“What?”

“Wh-what are you doing?”

“I’m helping you bury your bloody cat,” he said, kneeling down to the ground and not looking at her. He pulled out his wand and began moving dirt to carve out a little hole, far away from any of the plants but still in an area that he considered nice enough for a burial.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see her kneel down beside him to watch, but to his relief she stayed silent, though he could hear that she was crying again. When it was done and he had created a hole more than large enough for a cat, and also deep enough that the grave wouldn’t be disturbed, he glanced at her.

“I think it’s better to take her out of the box,” he said heavily, predicting that she would lose her shit again and fully unprepared for such a thing. “If you don’t want to look, I can…”

“No,” she responded, sounding fierce again, and Draco blinked and went quiet, surprised. “I want to do it.”

“Okay,” he agreed, watching her curiously now.

She carefully opened the box to reveal a tabby cat inside. It was quite a pretty cat, Draco decided. He had never liked cats much, but he supposed he could see the appeal. Its limbs were already stiff and he pursed his lips, not much liking seeing death himself—he had seen enough of it—but Emma boldly reached in with her little arms trembling and picked the cat out of the box.

Immediately, she tucked it to her chest again, pressing her face into the cat’s fur. Draco’s protests about how disgusting and unhygienic she was being died in his throat when he saw the tears streaming down her cheeks.

“I love you very much, Persephone,” she whispered shakily. “You were _such_ a good kitty. My very best friend. I’ll be ever so lonely without you. I hope you’ll feel peaceful here. I’ll come visit you.”

Draco shifted uncomfortably as Emma very gently lowered her cat into the hole in the ground, not appreciating the lump that had grown in his throat. He gave her another long minute to simply stare at it, still crying, before he cleared his throat. “Er–ready?” he asked awkwardly, brandishing his wand.

She just nodded, and he began moving the dirt back into the hole, eventually covering the cat and then filling it back up completely. To his horror, she was still crying, so he did the first thing he could think of, sweeping over to some of the vibrant flowers being grown by Professor Sprout, picking a large bunch, and bringing them over to place them on the freshly dug up earth.

“There,” he said decisively.

Emma very suddenly launched herself at him, hugging him fiercely around the waist. “Thank you, Draco,” she mumbled, voice muffled by his shirt. “I take back what I said. You’re not evil. And I’m sorry I kicked you.”

He was too tired to correct her and tell her to still use his last name. He just awkwardly patted her head twice as she clung to him, not knowing what to say to that, so he only said very wearily, “Let’s go back. It’s getting cold, and you still need to eat dinner.”

They were nearly inside when Draco remembered his suspicions about her blood status.

And when she gave him one more grateful hug and smile before departing to dinner, he noted that he wasn’t disgusted at all by letting her touch him.

Feeling incredibly strange and emotionally drained, he slowly started heading up to the Head Tower.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mentions of death/violence/torture, language


	8. Eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello Turn readers :) I just wanted to say a quick thank you for following along, reading, and showing love! 
> 
> Hope you enjoy this next chapter :)

Things really started to become even more complicated starting on a chilly and sunny Saturday afternoon in the first week of October.

You were at your weekly mentoring meeting with Brenda – one day, in fact, after Draco had come to you for advice about the girl he was mentoring – and you were leaning over her shoulder while she wrote to make sure everything was correct when you saw another piece of paper tucked under her other paperwork. You took notice mainly because of the large seal pressed into the corner of the stationery: the Hogwarts crest. “What’s this?” you asked her, gesturing to it.

“A letter from the Carrows,” she told you, glancing up from her essay and biting her lip.

That immediately chilled your blood, and you pointed to it again. “May I?”

“Sure.” She watched as you carefully pulled it out from her stack of papers and read it over, your face slowly becoming full of horror as you did so. When you finally looked up at her and went to speak, you had to fight to keep your voice even.

“Are your parents…?”

“I’ll be okay,” said Brenda quietly, though the look on her face was still nothing short of disturbed. “My mum is a witch, at least. But I know some other first years who…”

_Are Muggleborn_ , you finished for her silently, and then you quickly stood up.

“Brenda, if you’re okay on your own I have something I need to do right away,” you told her, hoping that she didn’t see just how much distress you were feeling and that you were speaking in a manner that was relatively calm even though you felt anything but.

“Yeah,” she replied, nodding, watching you hurry off with worried eyes.

It didn’t take you long to find Susan and Hannah, who were outside in the courtyard with Ernie, Terry – who you smiled at rather awkwardly, since he had firmly remained only a friend after the evening you had let him kiss you – and a few other Ravenclaws.

“Y/N!” exclaimed Susan, looking pleased to see you. “You’re early!”

“Yes,” you said quickly. “I wanted to talk to you and Hannah about something important.”

Their eyes flickered with surprise and they glanced at each other, but they followed you without further questions inside the castle and to the Great Hall, where no students or teachers were lingering, though you still went over to a more secluded corner.

You took a deep breath. “There are letters,” you said to them. “The Carrows sent letters to all the first years asking for proof of blood status. And when the Muggleborn children hand them in…” You stopped. You didn’t want to say out loud your suspicions about what the Carrows would do to those kids.

What you noticed, however, was that though Susan and Hannah glanced at each other again, it was not with looks of surprise. What you had just told them was not news to them.

And then Susan leaned forward a little and she spoke very, very quietly, her eyes flicking around the Great Hall before resting seriously on you. “Do you want to do something about it, Y/N?”

You thought of the Defense classes and all the horrible things Amycus said every week, or the Muggle Studies classes where Alecto talked gleefully about how Muggles were animals.

You thought about their looks of glee when they tortured or injured or frightened people, and knew that the other Death Eaters were more of the same; and then, of course, there was the Dark Lord himself. You shuddered.

You thought of everyone’s constant state of fear, especially the younger children. You thought of the many people dying, going on the run, families being torn apart.

And you thought of Draco, essentially being mentally – and likely physically, by means of Cruciatus – tortured in his own home over holidays, having taken a Mark that you knew he regretted deeply and being exposed to things that were making him practically ill and drink Calming Concoction by the vial.

“Yes,” you said resolutely. “I do.”

Hannah and Susan shared another glance. “Come with us,” said Hannah, and she and Susan led you to the Common Room, to the empty girl’s dormitories, to her trunk, which she opened and rummaged around in for a moment before holding up a Galleon. You shot her a questioning look, but she pressed it into your hand. “It has a Protean Charm on it,” she told you. “It’s not a regular Galleon. Look at the numbers around the outside.”

Holding up the Galleon, you examined the serial edges on the edge very carefully. “Today’s date,” you said quietly, looking up again. “And is that a time? Ten o’clock?”

“Yes,” said Susan. “Those numbers change when Neville and Ginny decide on another meeting. They’re leaders now, with Harry gone.“

They were both giving you significant looks, and you suddenly registered what, exactly, you were getting yourself into. You remembered the whispers going around the school of a secret Defense club that had been caught during Umbridge’s reign in fifth year.

“Dumbledore’s Army,” you murmured, running a thumb over the Galleon, heart beating harder.

It was one thing to want everything to end and for the Dark Lord to be defeated. It was quite another thing to actually join an openly defiant underground group to actively fight it.

But you were ready.

“Where is the meeting?” you asked finally, looking up at them determinedly.

Hannah grinned. “I told you she’d want in,” she said to Susan.

“Yes,” said Susan, giving you an affectionate smile. “I never doubted her. The meetings are in the Room of Requirement. It’s up on the seventh floor. Look, you can meet us in the library shortly before ten and we can go up together, or just meet us up there if you like. You know that corridor with the tapestry of Barnabus the Barmy trying to teach trolls ballet?” When you nodded, bemused, she said, “Good. Go there. It’s kind of a special room, so we’ll show you how to get in.”

You were trying not to look as scared as you felt. “Great. I’ll be there.”

* * *

Despite the October chill, you spent the rest of the afternoon and evening on the Astronomy Tower.

You skipped dinner, instead opting to stare out across the grounds, watching the small dots of students weaving their way across them, making rounds around the lake or standing clustered in groups, enjoying – or probably trying to enjoy – their weekend.

It would be overwhelming tonight, being around so many other people. This time up here, all alone, was good. Quiet. It gave you time to rest your brain, which seemed to insist on near regular headaches lately.

You noted, however, that being around your little, regular group of friends was becoming easier and easier; perhaps exposure to others’ minds was something you had needed all along.

You thought of the war and responsibility and fighting back.

You thought a lot about Draco.

It was strangely calming to sometimes try and recall his face perfectly to memory when you were alone. It was always a face that was happier than you had seen him lately; those times last year when he had been relaxed, or smiling, or reading with you while he played with your hair in the alcove.

At least, it was calming for a while.

After a time, the longing became too much, and you shoved the images and thoughts of him away before you could cry, and tried to think of other things.

You were shivering by the time the sun had been down for an hour or so, but you still stayed, huddled on the rooftop and blissfully alone, until you had half an hour to get down to the seventh floor corridor and meet the others. Stiffly you stood, stretching out your cold muscles before heading inside, to the warmth of the castle and to something new and terrifying and a little exciting.

“Whatcha doin’ up here?”

The voice was familiar, and when you jolted out of your thoughts in your trek down the corridor and looked up you saw that it was Crabbe, lumbering toward you from around the corner and with a glint in his eye. “I don’t see why that concerns you,” you said stiffly, not liking that he already had his wand drawn, even though he wasn’t pointing it at you. You especially did not like that he was stopped in front of you. It was some distance away, but he was still blocking you from going further.

Before last year Crabbe or Goyle had hardly been seen without Draco, and despite your request for distance you did desperately wish your ex-boyfriend was here now. Crabbe was always far too quick to have horrible answers and eagerly drink in Amycus Carrow’s words in Defense; he was proving to be one of the Carrows’ most staunch supporters, eager to prove himself to their cause.

“Does,” he grunted, taking a step forward. “Might be up to no good, eh?”

“As far as I recall, Crabbe, I am a prefect and you are nothing,” you snapped. You rose your voice, hoping it would carry to the meeting point to the Room of Requirement, even though that was still many corridors away from where you were. “I have every right to be here.”

Crabbe laughed, and it made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. When he stopped, he only fixed you with a very amused and pigheadedly stubborn look. “You think you ain’t a suspect, Halfblood?”

This sent a thrill of fear through you, chilling you to the bone, but you tried to show nothing of this on your face and instead stood up straighter.

Crabbe was a bully. He always had been. Now that he didn’t have Draco’s business to bully for any longer – you tried to remember if you had even seen them together this year, and you didn’t think you had – he was probably itching to put that energy elsewhere, and you weren’t about to let it shift to you.

“Not sure what that means,” you said coldly. “Now step aside.”

His eyes glittered. “Make me. I betcha you got one of those coins, eh? I remember fifth year. I was in the Squad, Halfblood, and we caught ‘em once. I’ll catch ‘em again. Turn out your pockets.”

Slowly, you drew your wand, heart pounding, thinking desperately how you could avoid it coming to a full blown duel and wondering if you should attempt to walk past him or if that was unbelievably stupid. “You have no authority over me, Crabbe,” you said firmly. “Step _aside_.”

To your surprise, he gave you a horrible, stupid smirk and stepped slightly to the side, gesturing down the corridor. Eyes narrowed in suspicion, you kept your wand clutched tightly in your hand, prepared to turn it on him at any moment if you saw him hold his own wand any higher than it already was.

You wished that you looked more calm, but you knew that as you passed him you looked tense and terrified and wary, and you were highly aware of his eyes following yours.

You had just breathed a sigh of relief as you put him behind you when you felt a large hand clamp around your upper arm, yanking you back.

“Looks like I’ll have to search your pockets myself,” he hissed directly into your ear, his warmth breath on your neck, and you let out a shrieking yelp of pain and fear at the iron grip he had on your arm, trying to wrench yourself free, but Crabbe, of course, was very strong.

“Let _go_!” you whimpered, struggling desperately when he tightened his hand and made to move it down to your pockets. You did the only thing you could think of: you lifted your leg and drove the sole of your foot backward, in an awkward, backward kicking motion.

But it worked – your foot collided with his knee cap and he grunted in pain, giving you another opportunity to send an elbow to his ribs and jerk yourself free, scrambling off and whipping around with your wand up, just in time to block the spell he sent whizzing at you. It collided forcefully with your shield and you staggered back with a gasp; he sent another one almost directly after, and it was all you could do to block that one as well.

Clearly, Crabbe was not as dumb as he seemed when it came to dueling.

Or perhaps all the cruelty of the year had brought out his motivation. Either way, you stumbled backward, blocking desperately as he continued shooting hexes and curses, the dangerous flashing of his eyes nearly throwing you into a state of panic.

Your back slammed hard into the wall, and immediately he took advantage of your momentary lack of movement to send another spell at you. You spun, moving out of the way just in time, and the golden sparks collided with the stone wall just in the spot that your head had just vacated, sending small chunks of wall everywhere.

Now you were moving down the corridor from which he had come, but he was following, picking up the pace, and you could only move so quickly going backward. He was grinning.

“ _Stupefy_!” you hissed, but he sidestepped it and shot two more at you, in quick succession, which you blocked with some desperation.

_Should I scream?_ you wondered. _Or will it backfire and attract the Carrows or someone else that will help Crabbe instead? There was a good chance, however, that you had allies close by…_

Before you could decide, Crabbe charged.

For such a gigantic, thick body, he could actually move quite quickly.

You raised your wand, just about to try and stop him and praying that it would work and he wouldn’t block it. In another physical skirmish you knew you would be nearly helpless against someone like him and that you likely wouldn’t escape for a second time.

But a jet of light suddenly blazed over your shoulder, the spell hitting him square in the face and causing him to crumple to the ground, completely unconscious. You whirled around to see who had come to help you, expecting Terry, or a Hufflepuff friend, someone else from Dumbleore’s Army.

Or even Draco. But…

“Parkinson?”

You gaped at her as she straightened up slightly, tucking her wand calmly in her robes and smirking triumphantly at Crabbe’s limp body. Her dark eyes, however, were still blazing when they settled on you, and she grimaced.

“This doesn’t mean I like you,” she warned immediately, her voice sharp as she waved a finger at you. “It just means that Crabbe was fucking out of line, attacking someone walking alone.”

You were tempted to ask her why she even cared about that, but your brain was frozen. For a brief second, your guard was down and you got a loud flash of her thoughts.

… _would fucking lose…_

Blinking, you struggled to put the wall back up. You owed her that much privacy now, at least, despite also not being particularly fond of her.

“Still,” you said finally. “Thank you.”

“Whatever,” she said, looking like she had eaten something sour. And then she haughtily rose her chin, appraising you for a moment with a mixture of disdain and curiosity. “It seems you’re better now, aren’t you? At spells,” she clarified, eyes glittering maliciously.

“Thank you?” you said again, feeling a little dazed and wary.

She sneered. “Of course, you were truly atrocious before, so it’s not saying a lot.”

“Lovely,” you muttered irritably.

Her eyes flicked to Crabbe again and then back to you, sweeping over you with a hard look in them. “Hogwarts is a fucking free-for-all by this point. Keep that in that idiotic Puff brain of yours, wandering around alone, unless you want to take your chances,” she said harshly, turning to go.

“Pansy — ”

“It’s Parkinson,” she snapped furiously, wheeling back to face you. “Again, I don’t like you, your House, or your friends. This is just advice. I couldn’t give two shits about you.”

_Then you could have just left me to it_ , you wanted to say, but she had already stalked away, leaving you to gape after her in shock for a long moment. When you had composed yourself, you glanced again at Crabbe’s passed out body lying on the stone floor.

You grimaced. It felt strange to just leave him lying there and not report this to someone, but the Carrows would probably applaud him for antagonizing you and it likely wouldn’t get you anywhere anyway, so…

Turning on your heel, you continued on in the direction you had been heading before this whole mess had started: the corridor containing the tapestry with the trolls learning ballet, as per Susan’s instructions for the meeting. After the meeting was over, you decided — with another violent shiver as nausea rose in your stomach at the thought of being caught with that coin and reported to the Carrows — you would make sure you had a walking partner.

But the surprise run-ins of the night were not over.

After you had gone two more corridors there were footsteps around the corner, hurried ones; and then they paused, and you guessed that they had heard yours. The steps picked up with renewed vigor in your direction, and you had all of a second to be fearful until you heard Draco’s voice. “Pans?”

Draco came hurrying around the corner, brow furrowed in concern; his eyes widened a fraction when he saw you there and not Pansy as expected.

“No,” you said, trying to keep the acid out of your voice. “Not Pans. Just me.”

“We were doing patrols,” he told you quietly. “She went to the loo ages ago…”

“I just saw her,” you replied, not really wanting to explain to him that you might know the reason Pansy had been gone so long. “I don’t know where she went after, but she’s fine.”

“Oh.” He glanced down and shuffled his feet, and it was clear he was feeling distinctly uncomfortable. “And, er — how are you? Are you…okay?” His gaze moved up to rest on yours.

“Peachy,” you said, feeling ruffled and not to mention very shaky after your run-in with Crabbe and not wanting him to take notice. Nor did you want him hanging around near the site for the meeting. “Let’s not try the small talk, Draco, okay? We’re both awful at it.” 

You made to step past him, to continue on your way, but he suddenly moved in front of you. You glared at his chest without looking up at his face. “Excuse me,” you said pointedly.

“What happened to you?”

His voice was rough. When you looked up, he was frowning deeply and his eyes had an intent light in them. They were sweeping over you in a calculating way that made you feel like _he_ was the one who could easily pop into minds.

“What?” you stuttered. “I don’t — ”

“Your eyes look funny. Unfocused. And…” Carefully, he reached out to take your wrist. He pulled your arm up to his line of vision, lips pursed at the way it was vibrating violently.

“Nothing,” you said quickly, pulling away and breaking eye contact.

“You’re shaking,” he said. “Why are you so jumpy? Has someone hurt you?”

“ _No_ ,” you insisted, feeling a little panicked at how easily he saw through you. “I’m just trying to get somewhere, so if you’ll excuse me — ”

“And where are you going exactly?” he interrupted.

“I don’t know why you think it’s your business,” you said tiredly. “Distance and interfering, remember?”

He sighed. “I suppose it’s not,” he replied gruffly, looking distinctly irritated about this, “But I know what you’re doing, Y/N, and you’re putting a _huge_ fucking target on your back.”

“What?” You stared up at him, heart suddenly thudding. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

His gray eyes were hard. “Oh?” he said shrewdly, arching a brow in displeasure. “So if I were to ask you to turn out your pockets, I would _not_ discover that you’re carrying a certain special Galleon? And the numbers on the outside wouldn’t correspond to today’s date? And it’s just a mere _coincidence_ you’re heading to the corridor that contains the Room of Requirement?”

You gaped at him, astounded at how much he knew. “I don’t…”

“You know exactly what I’m talking about.” He folded his arms.

You threw him the most defiant look you could manage. “Turn me in, then. Go on Draco. Report me.”

He scoffed and rolled his eyes. “You know very well I’m not going to do that,” he said, grimacing. “But you’re being unreasonable. Don’t join them. If that group gets caught…” His eyes suddenly became pleading; he took another step closer. “Just keep your head _down_ , Y/N. Damn it, don’t be an idiot!”

“I can’t!” you hissed. “I can’t do nothing anymore, Draco!”

“Yes, you can,” he insisted stubbornly.

“Well, I don’t want to,” you said fiercely. “I can’t live like this. Always afraid, everyone’s heads so much louder because they’re terrified, too, dealing with monsters like the Carrows…”

“That doesn’t mean _you_ personally need to do something about it!” he argued, looking very agitated.

“Then who will?” you demanded. “You think if everyone just does nothing this will all fix itself? Or do you _want_ him to keep winning, Draco? Because I don’t!”

“Keep your voice down,” he warned, glancing around. “ _Merlin_ , Y/N – ”

“Well, I don’t!” you said indignantly, though you were speaking much quieter now. “A lot of us have friends and parents that will be killed if he keeps winning. A lot of us, myself included, will be treated like second-class citizens as well. We don’t have the luxury to do nothing like _you_ do.”

There was a long, pained silence.

“The _luxury_?” Draco finally hissed, eyes flashing furiously. “You think I have more choices than you? You know better than anyone that I didn’t want any of what I got. I didn’t choose for my father to fuck up everything and have to take over his shit, or for _him_ to come live in my bloody house.”

“And I didn’t _choose_ to be born a Halfblood,” you said pointedly. “Just like others haven’t chosen to be Muggleborns. It’s wrong and unfair to judge someone for things they can’t choose, is that what you’re saying?”

He faltered. His eyes flickered, and he swallowed hard. “Please,” he said finally, hoarsely. “You’re being angry and reckless this year. It’s not like you.”

“I _am_ angry about all this,” you said firmly. “It’s ruining and taking lives. And I’m going to do something about it. It’s not reckless, it’s just right. That’s me _now_ , and it’s not really my problem if you don’t like it, Draco.” You felt tears fill your eyes, but refused to let them fall; and then you sighed quietly. “We said we wouldn’t interfere and would keep some distance,” you continued, now avoiding his eyes. “We keep breaking the terms that we set.”

“I didn’t mean to run into you tonight!” he said irritably. “And I didn’t know I wasn’t allowed to – to at least _caution_ you about something dangerous.”

“It’s…” You paused, flustered when you noted that his feet had come another step closer to you.

“You can,” you said finally, having sudden difficulty with making your throat functions work properly when you looked up and saw the intensity of his eyes. “I appreciate the thought, but when I say I can handle myself, trust me.” You had to break your gaze from his again and you knew that if you didn’t exit the conversation now that you might kiss him again, which would be breaking yet another rule and was a spectacularly bad idea. “I should go,” you mumbled. “See you around, okay?”

You had only taken a few steps past him when his voice stopped you, as did his hand closing around your wrist. “Wait,” he murmured softly.

Slowly, heart hammering painfully against your rib cage, you turned back around to fully face him.

He took yet another step closer, looking down into your face intently.

You both stayed like this for just a moment. In reality it was probably only a second or two, but it felt like forever.

It was strange how everything else around you seemed to melt away. Clearly, your attraction to him wasn’t going anywhere, as evidenced by the fact that he hadn’t _done_ anything and yet _still_ you felt how your pulse had picked up speed, practically jumping out of your neck, or how heat was coursing through your entire body like an inferno just because he was standing close enough. Suddenly, only Draco’s presence mattered: his height and the way he was using it to bend slightly into your space; his familiar cologne and his slightly tousled hair.

And those eyes; one could never complain Draco wasn’t attentive when he was looking at you like that. When he looked at things he really _saw_. When his eyes were on you there was no doubt you had his full attention.

Right now, his eyes were locked very intently with yours.

And then, for only a millisecond, you thought maybe they were on your mouth.

But perhaps that had also just been wishful thinking on your part.

Hard to tell.

And the part of you that you were trying to smother – the part that was still hopelessly in love with him and hopeful _about_ him – flared up without warning, flooding you with desires that were almost painful. As you watched him struggle for words, you found yourself waiting, _hoping_ …

_Tell me not to go, tell me you don’t care about blood, tell me you want me, that you’ve never felt anything like this; say something, tell me you’ll fight with me or for me, tell me you love me…_

You were unsure what you would do if any of those things actually came out of his mouth, but it didn’t stop you from wanting them anyway.

“Then please be careful,” was all he finally muttered, looking defeated.

The disappointment was bitter but not necessarily unexpected; you just nodded and stepped back, letting out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding and putting some distance between you in the hopes that it would help your heart rate return to normal. 

He was still looking down into your face, with his eyes just as intense as they had been before, if not more so. And you were just about to say that you would be careful, of course you would, but the words were stuck in your throat due to the cartwheels that your insides were currently doing at something on his face and the electricity hanging in the air. But then a voice sounded from your left, pulling you abruptly out of the world that, momentarily, had only had you and Draco in it.

“Oi! Step away from her, Malfoy!”

It was Terry’s voice, but there was more than one pair of footsteps. And sure enough, when you started and turned to face the newcomers, he was flanked by Hannah, Susan, and Ernie.

They stopped a few feet away. You caught Susan’s eye but hurriedly looked away, not sure you were ready to see what was on her face.

Draco had stepped further away from you, and his features were fixed into a scowl. His eyes had gone from warm to ice in seconds, and Terry was currently getting the full blast of his glare, but when he spoke he still sounded bored and detached. His signature drawl. “I’m not going to hurt your girlfriend, Boot. Keep your wig on.”

“Sure you weren’t,” said Terry furiously. “Clearly you were just threatening her.”

“Oh, yes,” said Draco sharply. “Clearly.” He raised his eyebrows, his cold gaze sweeping over the others that had arrived, and you made your way over to stand next to Hannah and Susan, feeling shaky and uncertain what to say to diffuse the tension and deflect questions. “And what are you all doing up here together? Not just out for an evening stroll as a group, I’m sure.”

“Butt out, Death Eater,” snapped Terry, drawing his wand.

“Terry,” protested Hannah, fearful at the rushed escalation of conflict.

Draco pursed his lips. “Put your wand away,” he ordered, voice hard and eyes flashing. “I already don’t like you, Boot, but I promise you don’t want to make a real enemy of me.”

“Scared?” taunted Terry.

“Hardly,” said Draco calmly. “I’m just a self-preservationist and clever, you nitwit, which means that I’m not going to fight you when I’m so clearly outnumbered.” His eyes swept over the group one last time, his mouth curled into a sneer of disgust; and then he was sweeping away down the corridor, his wide shoulders stiff with tension.

Terry didn’t lower his wand. It was clear he was being tempted by the idea of shooting a hex at Draco with his back turned, but Susan stepped forward and took Terry’s arm, lowering his wand. “You’ll draw more attention to us by antagonizing him, Terry,” she said ruefully, frowning at him.

“Do you think he’s going to get the Carrows?” asked Ernie, frowning.

“No,” said Susan firmly.

“You don’t know that,” said Terry, mouth set in irritation. He was still glaring down the corridor, even though the back of Draco’s blonde head had long since turned the corner.

“I know. It’s a hunch,” said Susan, her eyes flicking around the group and lingering on you.

“Did you _see_ him?” pressed Terry as you all started walking the short rest of the way to the destination. “What was he saying to you, Y/N? It looked like he was about to attack you.”

“That’s one way of putting it,” muttered Hannah, so quietly that only you, her, and Susan could hear, and you felt heat creep into your neck.

“He was just trying to get me to confess about where I was going,” you said, trying to sound dismissive. “Just like he was doing to you. I was fine, Terry, you didn’t need to act like that. It only made it worse.” You were feeling distinctly irritated with his protectiveness, and also that he had not corrected the assumption that you were his girlfriend.

“It looked like trouble,” said Ernie, as Terry looked rather hurt. “We were only trying to help.”

You fought the urge to sigh. This night was just one long string of people stepping in to help or _thinking_ they were stepping in to help, apparently.

“You two go ahead,” said Susan suddenly to the boys as you all made it to the entrance to the Room of Requirement. “I want to have a word with Y/N and Hannah.” Terry and Ernie looked rather tentative to leave you behind, but Susan said very pointedly, “Girl stuff, you know. Five minutes.”

At this, there were no more protests.

Terry gave you a sheepish sort of look of apology and you gave him a small smile, willing to forgive his little outburst of temper; and then he and Ernie were reassuring the three of you that if you were longer than five minutes they would come out to check that everything was okay. Then they promptly paced three times, a door appeared, and they slipped inside, much to your amazement, as this was the first time you had seen it happen.

Simultaneously, both girls turned to you and you struggled not to outwardly wince, having a feeling that you knew exactly what conversation was coming.

“Well,” said Hannah, the corners of her mouth turning up slightly. “Care to explain?”

“Explain what?” you replied, playing dumb.

“That moment you were clearly having with Draco Malfoy.”

“That wasn’t a moment,” you said desperately. “Like I said, he was trying to – ”

“Yeah, we aren’t as dumb as the boys, Y/N,” said Susan, mouth twitching at you. “ _They_ might have misconstrued his face and body language as aggressive, but that was obviously not what it was. Intense, certainly.” She and Hannah shared looks.

“We were only talking,” you argued, feeling your heart twist violently.

“Nope,” said Hannah decisively, shaking her head and looking both confident and vaguely awed. “There was raging chemistry. I’ve never seen Malfoy’s face _look_ like that before.”

Fleetingly, you glanced at Susan. She seemed to know not to mention the conversation the two of you had shared from the first night of term, but by the look on her face, she knew it was Draco you had been talking about. You were very grateful she wasn’t mentioning that without asking you if that was all right first – proving again why you liked her so much – but you still shifted a little, uncomfortable with the fact that your secret had been unwittingly outed.

“Is something going on with you two?” asked Hannah.

“No,” you mumbled.

“Are you sure?” she pressed, snickering now. “Because it _definitely_ looked like he wanted to throw you against the wall and have his way with you. And you _definitely_ did not look opposed.”

You imagined that if flames were to suddenly scorch your face and neck, it would be similar to how you were feeling now. “ _Hannah_!” you squeaked. 

“What?” She shrugged and gave you a wicked grin. “I’m just saying.”

“Nothing is going on,” you said firmly. “Besides, seems he’s with Parkinson.”

“Bit of a shame,” said Hannah dramatically, sighing a little. “I would have been kind of curious.” When you both just stared at her in disbelief she exclaimed, “Well, come on! Malfoy is really quite easy on the eyes, isn’t he? I mean, _physically_ speaking he’s a wonderful specimen.” Her eyes glittered with mischief as Susan giggled, but then Hannah wrinkled her nose. “Although his personality is still horrid, of course, so it’s probably for the best…”

Susan laughed, but you felt immediately rather defensive. And before your brain could catch up your mouth was blurting out, “He’s not _horrid_.”

Abruptly they grew quiet and just stared at you for a long moment. Hannah looked very surprised, while Susan was just giving you a rather knowing look.

“I – I just mean – he clearly is more tolerable than he was before,” you stuttered quickly, struggling to find a reason that you found Draco Malfoy redeemable without revealing just how well you knew him. “He could have been really nasty and reported me…”

Hannah suddenly grinned again and opened her mouth to respond, but it was precisely then that the door to the Room of Requirement swung open to reveal Terry. “Coming?” he asked, giving you all questioning looks.

“Yes,” you mumbled quickly, very relieved, hurrying forward to join him so you could end this conversation.

You were about to attend your very first Dumbledore’s Army meeting; which you hoped would, at least for a time, get Draco Malfoy out of your mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: language, violence, physical assault, fighting & a duel, mentions of torture and war stuff, sexual tension & themes


	9. Nine

Not even two full minutes after Draco sat down for breakfast on Sunday morning, he felt a presence beside him and intent eyes directly on his face.

When he moved his gaze from the pile of eggs he had been pushing listlessly around his plate to glare at whoever it was, he was greeted by the sight of Emma, who looked far too awake in Draco’s opinion and was turned fully toward him on the bench to give him a huge, adoring smile.

“Hi, Draco!” she chirped, bouncing happily on the bench.

_I never should have been nice to her_ , he thought irritably.

“What do you want?” he muttered.

She swung her little legs over the bench to sit normally at the table and began piling toast and eggs on her plate. She was uncomfortably close to him; she seemed determined to be in his bubble as much as possible. “The jam,” she said matter-of-factly, pointing.

He scowled, wondering if she had purposefully misunderstood him. He knew she wasn’t stupid. “We are not suddenly best friends because I helped you,” he snapped, pointedly not giving her the jam and turning back to his plate with a little huff. “I already deal with you once a week, and that’s more than enough. Go away.”

Out of the corner of his eye he saw her eyes grow a little wider, and for a moment they went glassy, and Draco thought she might cry again. But then she fixed her expression into a resolute pout. “Fine. But I’m still free to sit here. It’s my table too,” she said very stubbornly, as she leaned over him to snatch the jam herself.

“Why do you have to be such a fucking pest?” he hissed under his breath at her.

“Why do you have to be so mean?” she shot back, throwing him a look.

“Because I am mean,” he said finally, coldly. “And I want you to go the fuck away and let me eat my breakfast. I don’t want an irritating little kid hanging around me. I want peace.”

There was no disguising the glassiness of her eyes this time as she spread the jam on her toast, even though she wasn’t looking at him. And he saw her bottom lip tremble and the flutter of her eyelashes that suggested that more waterworks might be coming, and he frowned, unwilling to be swayed by her guilt tactics this time.

“I’m not irritating,” she said, but her voice was small and uncertain. “What if I was really quiet?”

“I’m beginning to think that’s impossible with you once you start talking to someone,” said Draco, and he was appalled that even _he_ heard that there was a very light streak of affection in his tone. He prayed fervently that she hadn’t noticed it, but by the way she glanced up at him he had the distinctly uncomfortable feeling that she had. “Fucking pest,” he said quickly, to cover his tracks.

“You say bad words a lot,” she noted, before pouring herself some orange juice.

He sputtered, trying to determine what to snap at her next; his gaze unwittingly moved up and across the room, in the direction of the Hufflepuff table. His mouth went a little dry when he saw that Y/N was actually looking directly at him for once, and she didn’t even instantly glance away – instead, her eyes flicked between him and Emma and she gave him a clearly amused smile before turning back to her food and going about things as if she hadn’t been looking at him at all.

He quickly moved his attention back to Emma, who was taking a drink of her juice.

“I’m not filtering my language for you if you insist on sitting here,” said Draco.

“So I _can_ sit here?” She was looking up at him with huge, hopeful eyes.

_Son of a bitch._

“Not every day,” he snapped, angrily spreading butter on a bread roll.

“Four days a week,” she wheedled.

He turned to narrow his eyes at her. “Two,” he said harshly. “And only for breakfast.”

“Okay,” she relented happily, to his surprise.

She looked so supremely pleased with herself that he couldn’t resist asking, “What has your face looking like a cat gotten into the cream?”

Her lip trembled again and he blinked, kicking himself momentarily for bringing up a cat before reminding himself fiercely that her emotions and sensitivity were _her fucking problem, not his_ – but then she was back to normal, and the look on her face was even smug. “I wanted two days from the beginning,” she said triumphantly, grinning at him. “I know that if you want to make a deal with someone you should always start with an offer way higher than what you actually want.”

Draco was vigorously torn between wanting to call her a little shit and being mildly impressed, so he opted not to say anything.

“What’s your favorite school subject?” asked Emma excitedly.

“None of these pointless questions,” said Draco, glancing at her. “You may _sit_ with me only.” He paused, frowning, unable to help himself from adding, “Why do you even want to sit with me, anyway? Don’t you have other people that you could go bother?”

She looked down at her plate. “No,” she said quietly. “I don’t have any friends yet.”

_Do not let her make you feel guilty,_ Draco chanted at himself, trying to ignore the strange feeling in his chest. “Why do you think that might be?” he asked sardonically, but she answered as if it had been a normal question, with a little shrug of her shoulders.

“I don’t know. I think I’m quite nice. I have a lot of interests. And I’m terribly clever. But others haven’t been that nice to me yet. Maybe I should have been in Hufflepuff.” Draco had to physically restrain his eyes from wandering to the Hufflepuff table again as she continued. “I heard they are very nice. Maybe I should try to make some friends in that House instead. I’ve tried some people from Slytherin and Ravenclaw.” She paused thoughtfully. “What do you think I should do?”

“You’re asking the wrong person,” he muttered.

“You don’t have friends either?”

“Don’t want them,” he said gruffly, throwing her a pointed look that she ignored.

“But I always see you with a girl,” she pressed. “The Head Girl. She seems mean.”

Draco snorted. “Pansy? Yeah, she is mean. Just like me. Like I told you.”

“You don’t like her?”

“Yes. I do.”

“So she’s your friend?”

“Would you cut it with the third fucking degree?” he hissed finally, sneering at her. “Eat your bloody breakfast, pest, and stop asking me so many questions. In fact, stop asking other people so many damn questions and you may very well find yourself a friend. _Merlin_.”

Rather than seem upset at his outburst, she beamed. “Thanks, Draco. I’ll try that.”

_Oh, for fuck’s sake_ , he thought miserably when the feeling in his chest returned as he watched her happily turn back to her breakfast plate.

* * *

The week passed mostly without event – Monday, of course, was another torture session, and this time it was Longbottom again, who seemed wildly determined to try and have most of the weight fall onto him by the way he reportedly antagonized the Carrows in classes.

Draco was selfishly glad it was Longbottom, but it was only a matter of time before…

He tried not to think about it.

The date of the first Hogsmeade weekend was announced: the weekend after this one, and though Draco wasn’t sure anything could really lift his permanently bad mood these days, at least it would be an opportunity to get out of the bloody depressing castle for a day.

Emma sat with him again on Friday morning for breakfast, and she seemed content to babble at him about her week and let him give noncommittal grunts in reply. Draco would never admit it to her, but his mood actually _was_ a little better when he went off to classes after listening to her aggressive optimism, even with the prospect of Defense class that day looming over him.

“See you this afternoon!” she chirped at him in the Great Hall, before hurrying away to her classes.

“Seems someone has a bit of a shadow,” murmured a voice from beside him, and he blinked, surprised, recognizing it immediately and looking down to briefly meet eyes with Y/N, who was looking very entertained again and was merely passing by him on her way to class –judging by her direction, on her way out to the greenhouses. Before he could properly respond she was past him, though she shot him a kind smile once more over her shoulder.

Draco suddenly had the undeniable urge to follow Emma and tell her that she could sit with him every damn meal if she so desired; but he gathered himself and sighed, mentally preparing himself for the long day ahead before sweeping off to his first class.

It was a long day, and Defense was a horrible theoretical class about probing the weaknesses of lesser witches and wizards, but again, he supposed he could be thankful it wasn’t worse.

He hurried out to the courtyard. He was feeling suffocated, and needed fresh air after the toxicity of that fucking class before he had to return inside to meet Emma in the library.

Huffing a little at the cold and tugging his scarf closer, he traipsed out to one of the more secluded areas and sat on a bench, staring unseeingly at the ground, until he heard footsteps.

He glanced up, seeing a group of students huddling in the corner of the courtyard closest to him, seemingly meeting after class. Their backs were to him and he was partially obscured behind one of the pillars surrounding the massive courtyard so they didn’t take notice of him, but he knew who they were after he heard Terry Boot’s voice.

“Where’s Y/N?” he asked.

“Don’t know,” said Susan Bones, sounding rather concerned. “I thought she was right behind me coming out of the room — oh yes, there she is.”

Draco couldn’t help it; he moved slightly for a better look around the pillar and to get a glimpse of her approaching the group. He saw that her face was twisted in a bit of a grimace, as if she were in pain. This, apparently, did not escape Terry Boot’s notice either, for he stepped around to position himself next to her, mostly blocking her from Draco’s view, and Draco ground his teeth together in irritation. “Y/N, are you all right?” he heard Boot ask cautiously, raising his arm to touch what Draco assumed was her shoulder.

“Yes,” she mumbled distractedly, and Boot moved slightly for half a second and Draco caught a glimpse of her face, still pulled into a pained expression.

_She’s clearly not fine_ , thought Draco. _Ask again, you stupid oaf_ …

“Are you sure?” pressed Boot gently, rubbing a hand up and down her arm. “You look like something is hurting.”

“Just…just a bit of a headache,” she muttered, clearly trying to make her voice light though Draco got another glimpse of her and she was rubbing her forehead furiously and frowning deeper.

“Come on,” Boot suggested, holding out a hand. “You should go to the Hospital Wing. I’ll take you. Madame Pomfrey will fix you up.”

_No, she won’t,_ thought Draco, very irritably now. _She needs space and you not to touch her, you fucking idiot, because that’s not a normal headache. Madame Pomfrey can’t do shit for her._

But to his surprise, her hand came out to meet Boot’s and she let him wrap his hand around hers. Draco couldn’t see his face, but he was very certain Boot was fixing her with some horrible, sappy smile. Vaguely, Draco saw her nod, and she was giving Boot a small, grateful smile, and then that was all he saw before Boot was leading her away.

“They’re cute, aren’t they?” said one girl, a Ravenclaw whose name Draco didn’t know, and he suddenly decided he had been outside long enough.

His feet were itching to move and adrenaline was coursing through his veins and so, lips pursed and in a much worse mood than before he had come out here, he got up and stalked toward the castle.

He wasn’t quite sure where he was going. He just needed to move, to pace, before being cooped up in the library with the silence of his thoughts again.

He had strode all the way to the second floor when he heard his name.

“Oi! Malfoy!” He turned at the feminine voice echoing down the corridor, brow furrowing when he saw that it was Susan Bones, and that she was hurrying toward him. She slowed down when she got closer, looking at him rather cautiously.

“Bones,” he said shortly, giving her a sneer and trying to move on. He had no intention of having a conversation with anyone right now.

She, however, moved ahead to step in his path and block him, much to his irritation.

“Move,” he snapped, trying again.

But again, she stepped in his way. “No,” she said firmly.

“Move,” he hissed. “Or I’ll hex you.”

“No, you won’t,” said Susan simply. “Because I’ve come to talk to you about something important. I need your help with something.”

“Fat chance,” he retorted, eyes flashing dangerously at her before successfully stepping around her. “I don’t particularly care about the things Hufflepuffs find important.”

“You and I both know that’s not true,” she called out to him as he stalked away. But he stopped dead in his tracks when she said, in a voice far too knowing for his liking, “Y/N is involved.”

There was a beat of silence. Two.

And then he slowly turned around to face her, eyes narrowed. She had a smug, triumphant smile on her face that immediately made Draco furious. “And what makes you think I give a shit about your friend?” he snapped, sweeping toward her in what he hoped was a menacing way.

She didn’t flinch. “You could have just kept walking, for one thing.”

He scowled, glaring furiously at her before turning again to hurry away, but Susan rushed ahead to stand in his way again, looking determined. “ _Malfoy_. Come on. There’s…look, some of us have a plan to help some people, okay? And it would really help if we had some…insider information.”

The look he gave her was cold. “Dumbledore’s Army again, is it? I could report you right now.”

“Could,” she agreed. “But we both know that you won’t.”

“You don’t know anything about me,” he hissed, gnashing his teeth together. The _nerve_ of her.

“True,” she said calmly. “But I do have very educated guesses based on a whole lot of shrewd observations, so. You know. There’s that.”

“What are you planning?” he asked harshly, feeling anxiety twist his gut.

“I can’t tell you too many details,” she said. “You understand, of course.”

He barked out a sardonic laugh. “You want me to help you, but you won’t tell me why?”

“Well, yes,” she said, shrugging. “Understandable that I’m not entirely convinced of your trustworthiness quite yet after your behavior all this time at school, isn’t it?”

He scowled at her, wishing he could just walk off again but not quite able to do it. He had to find out what was going on somehow. “Sounds like you should ask someone else for help then.”

Susan blinked, and then she sighed. “Look, we’re trying to help first years, Malfoy. Surely even you can’t deny that’s a good thing? And information will make it less dangerous for us. For _all_ of us,” she told him quietly, eyes scanning his face in a way that Draco didn’t quite like. Like she could see into his soul. “We just need to know some information about the Carrows’ office. _Any_ information would be helpful. Potential security spells they have set up, things like that…”

_Fuck, they’re going to break in_ , Draco realized, though he kept his horror off his face.

To avoid answering, Draco rolled his eyes again and shoved his sleeve up, brandishing his Dark Mark pointedly at her, and she predictably flinched at the sight. “Do you not understand what this thing means? Honestly, if you think you can just come to me expecting help, you Hufflepuffs are even dafter than I thought, and that’s saying something.”

For the first time, Susan’s eyes glinted in anger. “Daft, am I? Listen well, Malfoy: you may have broken her heart last year, but I can tell you still care enough to not want her dead. And seeing as she’s not a Pureblood, that also means you can’t care as much about blood as you used to…”

“Broken her – _excuse_ me?” he hissed, staring at her incredulously before composing his face into something cold and neutral again. “Fuck you. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t lie to me, Malfoy,” said Susan, just as coldly. Her fists were clenched at her sides. “You were involved with Y/N, weren’t you?”

“Fuck off,” he growled, moving to step around her.

She stopped attempting to get in his way, and he was relieved that she was finally going to leave him alone. “But then you ended things, didn’t you?” she called out to his retreating back.

He stiffened, rage blinding him for half a second before he whipped around again, a dangerous glint in his eye. This time when he took a step forward, Susan took a few steps back, watching him with a disconcerted and wary look on her face. “Wrong,” spat Draco, voice low and rough and furious. “She ended things with _me_ , because she knows what I am.” He pointed to his Dark Mark again before bitterly shaking the sleeve down. “The answer is no. I’m not helping you. And if you bother me again, Bones, I won’t turn a blind eye to your rebel bullshit any longer.”

And with that he stormed away, leaving Susan Bones staring after him in shock.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: language, possible risk of ovaries exploding?, and angst. oh the angst
> 
> Also: I know they are broken up and trying to maintain distance which essentially means less direct interaction at the moment, but the interactions pick up soon AND they both need the separate character development, it is important ;)


	10. Ten

“Draco?”

He jumped a little, coming back to reality.

How long had he been zoned out? He wasn’t sure. His gray eyes found Emma’s wide ones. “Is everything okay? You seem…” she trailed off, biting her lip and gazing up at him with concern.

“Yes,” he snapped gruffly. “Do you have a problem with your homework or something?”

She threw him a look that said ‘ _Obviously not_ ’, and then her eyes flicked about his face one more time before she leaned back over whatever essay she had been writing. Draco supposed he should know what it was. That was kind of his job here.

But he was far too distracted.

His conversation with Susan Bones had rattled him. He had a hard time seeing Y/N gossiping about him to others, and, like him, he suspected she wanted to keep their relationship last year a secret. _Probably doesn’t want to justify it_ , he thought very bitterly, unconsciously rubbing at his forearm.

The biggest thing nagging at him, however, wasn’t that Bones had successfully guessed, or even that she had attempted to use it to get him to help. It wasn’t even the anxiety gnawing at his insides at the thought of them all attempting to break into the Carrow’s office.

It was something else she had said:

_We’re trying to help first years, Malfoy…_

“Emma,” he said suddenly, and she glanced up expectantly, the scratching of her quill pausing.

“Yes?”

“When I first met you,” he said slowly. “You had a letter. From the Carrows. Do you still have it?”

He watched as her face filled with undeniable alarm and terror, and that terrible feeling in his chest returned when he saw that her hands shook so badly that she almost upset her ink bottle again. It got even worse when he saw her eyes range over his arm, exactly where his Dark Mark was, and then flick up to his face, her voice suddenly wary. “Yes,” she said quietly.

“Show it to me,” he commanded, though his voice was gentler than usual.

Hands still vibrating, she fumbled through her bag and presented it to him. His eyes scanned over the contents again, and this time there was no mistaking the queasy feeling he got when he read them. The fury that accompanied it was new.

“Halloween is the due date,” he murmured, pursing his lips together in thought before looking up at her again. “And have you turned in your paperwork early?”

“No.” Her lips quivered. She opened her mouth – hesitated – and then closed it again.

_She doesn’t trust me_ , he realized. _Not completely._

He didn’t blame her.

Smart of her, really.

“Good,” he said, giving her a firm look. “Don’t turn it in until the last day. Wait until Halloween. Got that?”

“Why?” Her voice quivered a little when she spoke.

“Why are you so frightened?” he asked pointedly. “Stop acting that way. You’re a Slytherin, and there’s no need to be frightened. That’s very suspicious.”

Her eyes flashed with fear, but then she nodded slowly. “Right,” was all she said.

He had been trying to give her a warning, caution her about her behavior; but it was obvious that she had taken it as a bit of a threat. 

She bent back over her essay and didn’t look at him for a long time, even though she didn’t seem to be writing much of anything and her eyes were glazed over. She looked close to tears again, and Draco’s gut twisted.

“Emma,” he murmured, leaning forward across the table. “Nothing is going to happen to you, all right?” The words had fallen out of his mouth seemingly of their own accord. It was a stupid, idiotic thing to promise, and he cringed inwardly. He hadn’t wanted to do it.

Emma looked up. She stared at him for a very long time, only briefly letting her eyes flick down to his covered arm again. She seemed to want to ask him something or say something important, for it looked as if she were struggling for words. But all she said was, “I’m scared.”

The waver in her voice made his chest tight.

“Doesn’t matter,” Draco said very firmly, “You can’t let anyone know that.”

There was a pause. “Like acting?” she whispered, eyes wide.

“Yes,” muttered Draco, heart thrumming in his chest. “Exactly like acting.”

* * *

The weekend passed far too quickly for your liking.

Mondays usually took place in a sort of fog. A dark cloud was settled over you the entire day, every week, for as much as you wished you could push the prefect meeting out of your mind until the time came – worrying about it all day did absolutely nothing except make you feel worse and have absolutely no concentration in classes, after all – you couldn’t quite manage it.

It was with a heavy heart that you made your way down to the dungeons with Terry and Ernie, dutifully taking your usual spots at a cluster of desks and numbly waiting for Amycus and Alecto both to arrive. They came strutting in the room far too soon, and just like always, watching their beady eyes sweep over you filled you with foreboding and made you suddenly cold.

“Another week with not enough discipline,” said Alecto in her soft, dangerous voice. “What are we going to do with the lot of you, eh?”

No one said anything.

You were torn between avoiding eye contact and staring at the floor or keeping your eye on the Carrows. Similar to a wild animal, you were quite sure that making eye contact could be construed as aggression. Then again, you also didn’t want them out of your sight for too long. You dragged your gaze up to glance at them, now pacing before you all and their eyes sweeping over you. This, however, was a mistake, for you locked eyes with Amycus.

He smiled.

“Stand up, Y/L/N,” he said.

_Well_ , you thought vaguely, through the numbness and the adrenaline and the heart-hammering fear, _I lasted this long without getting hit with the Curse. Suppose I should feel lucky._

You tried to stand up, but your body didn’t seem to be working, because you didn’t move. You were completely frozen. “Get _up_!” snapped Amycus, no longer smiling. “Are you deaf?”

Slowly, on very wobbly legs, you stood. You felt Terry’s hand clasp around your wrist, attempting to hold you steady and probably show support, and you were grateful.

“Have we checked the patrol schedules?” Draco’s drawl cut suddenly into the deathly silence of the room, though there was a slight edge to his usually casual tone. “I believe she patrols tonight.”

You most certainly did _not_ patrol tonight, and you held your breath as Amycus Carrow pulled a piece of paper out of his robes, brandishing it at Draco with a sneer before opening it. And then he smirked in triumph before tucking it away, though he threw Draco another nasty glare. “It’s Longbottom and Patil tonight,” he said nastily. “So get over here, Y/L/N.”

Going any closer to those monsters was the absolute last thing you wanted to do, obviously. So with the curious feeling that you were being forced to follow glass and struggling to make your lungs function properly, you slowly walked over and stood before Amycus, making sure to hold your expression in something that resembled defiance. You weren’t going to let them see how terrified out of your mind you were if you could help it.

Amycus’ cold eyes swept over for a moment. And then they flicked over your shoulder.

“Malfoy,” he said harshly. “Come here.”

Every muscle in your body tensed. There was a long, horrible pause, and then you heard the slow rustling that indicated that Draco was getting to his feet. The sounds in the room were coming at you strangely. Too loudly, and then too quietly. The harsh, nervous breathing of the other prefects. The clicks of Draco’s shoes walking slowly across the floor, stopping when he was beside you.

You didn’t dare look up at Draco. Amycus was studying you too intently, and you were rather afraid to break your gaze with the Death Eater when he had that glint in his eye.

Suddenly, Amycus’ arm shot out, wrapping tightly around your forearm. So tightly, in fact, that you let out a little yelp of pain, but he was dragging you a few steps away before you could register what was happening, taking you by the shoulders and spinning you to face Draco. He didn’t release your shoulders; he stood behind you, and his grip was digging into your skin, his breathing fanatical and delighted behind you. Your eyes caught Draco’s – his gray ones were completely blank, his gaze steady, flicking carefully between you and Amycus.

_He’s going to have Draco torture me_ , you thought, trembling from head to foot. _And he’s going to do it, because he has to. If he doesn’t, that would raise suspicion…_ _and just like Parvati, if_ _Draco_ _doesn’t_ _do it_ _, Amycus_ _or Alecto will_ _, and_ _they’ll_ _hurt me worse…_

You tried to think of a way that you could silently communicate to Draco to go through with it. Surely he was clever enough to realize that he had to, right? Desperately, you met his eyes again, but you couldn’t detect even an inkling of what he was feeling or thinking. The only thing that looked unnatural was that his chest was rising and falling quicker, more erratically.

But what Amycus said next, his fingers digging more viciously into your shoulders, nearly made you fall over. “Take out your wand, Y/L/N.”

You froze, eyes widening. “Wh – what?”

Amycus snatched your ear, yanking hard and causing your head to twist, and you cried out again in pain. He leaned forward, still holding your ear, and hissed, “Are Halfbloods born with inferior hearing, you stupid bitch? Take. Out. Your. Wand.”

Hand shaking, you slipped your wand out of your pocket, and Amycus thankfully released you, though he still hovered behind you, far too close for comfort. “Now,” he said softly. “I’m rather disappointed with Malfoy. He’s been far too lenient with punishments, just like you lot. That won’t do for a Head Boy and Death Eater, will it? Remind Malfoy of his responsibilities. Torture him.”

Your eyes moved almost frantically to Draco’s. He still appeared remarkably calm, but you could sense agitation in his stare, which was fixed on yours.

You held up your wand. Watched it tremble in the air. 

But the words wouldn’t come.

Horror filled you as you realized you didn’t think you could do exactly what you had just been wanting Draco to do. A few seconds passed that felt like ages.

And then you heard Draco’s voice in your head.

_Y/N_ , he was thinking at you, still looking at you very intently. He had let down his guard and was broadcasting. Loudly. It was almost as if he were standing beside you and murmuring in your ear. _Do it._

_I can’t_ , you wanted to scream at him. _This is mad,_ _I_ _could never cause you harm, I’d_ _truly_ _rather you do it to me_ _than turn my wand on you_ _…_

You were shaking your head a fraction of an inch to each side in protest, eyes wide with fear. He caught the motion and his mind got louder, though his voice was still a gentle murmur in your brain. _I know you can hear me. Yes, Y/N. Do it. You’re helping me. You really are. You’ve never cast it before and you don’t mean it. It won’t hurt that badly. Not like if they do it. It’s better like this._ _Compartmentalize._ _Clear your mind._ _Cast it!_

Shuddering and swallowing hard, you rose your head and wand a little higher.

“The incantation is ‘ _Crucio_ ’, in case you’ve forgotten,” said Alecto Carrow, snickering. “Ten more seconds of your pitiful wavering and I’ll torture you both.”

Draco’s eyes stayed on yours, and when you heard his voice again it was tinged with desperation. _Please_ , he was begging. _Y/N, please, please, please…_

“ _Crucio_ ,” you finally whispered, and the jet of blue light left your wand.

When it hit Draco he staggered backward and let out a gasp of pain, falling to his knees. But that was all. No writhing, no screaming, and it was already over. He stayed down, however, and when you caught a glimpse of his face you saw that it was twisted in discomfort, his chest moving even faster as he tried to catch his breath. Whatever you’d done had been very mild and it had _still_ hurt him.

Every instinct was screaming at you to run to him, but you remained, frozen.

Alecto let out a loud, amused cackle. “First time with the Curse, isn’t it, girl?” she taunted. “Try again.”

_No_ , you wanted to beg. _Please don’t make me, I can’t, please…_

_Y/N_ , Draco was thinking, sounding undeniably more tired and shaky though it was clear he was trying to be firm. _It didn’t hurt. Don’t hesitate._

_Liar_ , you wanted to say, to sob, or possibly to scream, but instead you rose your wand and you cast it on him again.

This time was much, much worse.

Draco was brought to his hands and knees from the force of your Curse, and then eventually all the way to the floor, and he began twitching and shaking, letting out strangled yelps of pain. You felt tears on your cheeks halfway through, and when it finally stopped he lay very still upon the floor and you were openly crying and the room was very blurry.

“Well,” said Amycus, who had come around to peer at your face and was sounding vaguely impressed. “Not bad for the first two tries, though we’ll work on that weak and blubbering disposition of yours, darling. The thing about Cruciatus is that you _really_ have to mean it. Like this.”

_N_ _O!_ you wanted to scream, but your vocal chords were clogged and all you could do was stagger a few steps forward in complete horror as Amycus turned his wand quickly on Draco and fired the curse at him again.

If you thought the second one had been bad, it was nothing to this.

You wanted to cover your ears and cower down and not hear his yells–because he wasn’t merely gasping or yelping as he had with yours, but was really, truly yelling, like he was on fire. You wanted to cover your eyes and not see how he writhed upon the floor. But all you could do was sob and pray brokenly in your mind for it to end, for it to finally be over. But it felt like it stretched on and on.

When you caught a glimpse of Amycus, you saw that he was grinning, clearly having been waiting for an excuse to do this to Draco for weeks. You caught a bit of Draco’s thoughts after a time, and he was pleading wildly, though it wasn’t meant for you: _Please, no more, please, I can’t,_ _I can’t_ _…_

“Please stop,” you sobbed, unable to keep quiet, and to your surprise it ceased.

“Dismissed,” said Amycus casually, and never had you wanted to launch yourself at him more and attack him with your bare hands, to claw out his eyes and make him scream…

Footsteps sounded behind you as the other prefects stood and began to leave. An arm slipped cautiously around your shoulders. Probably Ernie or Terry. You didn’t care. You were still crying, and watching as Pansy Parkinson quickly stood up and rushed to Draco. Her face was twisted in anxiety as she knelt beside him, but you saw no sign of tears on her cheeks. She was helping him stand, and he was shaky on his feet, putting more of his weight on her than you expected her to be able to handle. But she pursed her lips and braced herself and, his arm slung around her shoulders and one of her arms tucked around his hips, she led him away.

He didn’t glance at you as he passed, and you saw that he was very pale and still trembling.

_Holy shit,_ _I_ _used an Unforgivable,_ you thought wildly, mind going so numb from panic and disbelief and the tears coming so thick and fast now that you didn’t realize whoever had their arm around you was leading you carefully out of the room and into the corridor. _I tortured Draco, actually hurt him, and I didn’t even do it like he asked, Amycus still had his shot with him, I fucked up…_

“Y/N.” Terry’s voice came swimming into your consciousness.

“Don’t say it,” you whispered between sobs, shaking your head furiously.

“Say what?” he asked, sounding confused.

“That I’m an awful person for – for – ” You couldn’t say it out loud.

“You’re not,” said Terry gently.

“You spared him worse, Y/N,” said Ernie. “Amycus would have done it longer if you hadn’t started. Besides, I’ve read about the Cruciatus. The side effects afterward get easier to bear with exposure, even if the actual Curse doesn’t. If that were his first couple times with the Curse, he wouldn’t have even been able to stand afterward. Malfoy’s clearly been exposed to it a lot.”

Your stomach rolled. “How does that makes this better?” you snapped, rounding furiously on him but swaying a little on the spot while doing so.

“I only meant he’s more equipped to handle it than a lot of us,” said Ernie, in a placating tone. “Just think – if you hadn’t done it, not only would it have been worse for him, but you’d have gotten that same thing as well. Maybe worse. And _you_ have had no exposure, Y/N. We’d be taking you to the Hospital Wing right now.”

“I didn’t hurt him to save my own skin!” you hissed.

“We know,” said Terry kindly. “Really. We’re just glad you’re okay.”

They were missing the point. It obviously wasn’t your well-being you cared about. Then again, you didn’t expect them to care too much about Draco. 

He was, after all, a Death Eater.

_Malfoy’s clearly been exposed to it a lot._

Your heart felt like a stone in your chest. It seemed some of your fears about his summer had been confirmed. Just how much had he been tortured? What other horrible things happened to him at Malfoy Manor, things that had made him learn how to compartmentalize so well?

The boys began walking back with you to the Hufflepuff Common Room, even though you were itching to go find Draco. You longed to hug him and hold him and apologize, but you supposed that taking care of him was officially Pansy Parkinson’s job now. It made you want to scream.

Somehow you knew he and Pansy were going up to the Head Tower, somewhere you couldn’t follow anyway, though you still headed toward your Common Room with great reluctance.

_But I’ll talk to him_ , you thought anxiously, but with no small amount of determination. _Distance be damned. I at least have to check on him._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> torture, angst, language. emphasis on the torture


	11. Eleven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As some of you may have guessed by now, this fic is going to be extremely long lol. Hope you enjoy this chapter :)

The very next morning there was an announcement from the Heads that there would be a Halloween Ball pinned on the notice boards in all the Common Rooms. You stood with Hannah, Susan, and Ernie staring at it for a long moment. It took a lot longer than usual for the news to sink in properly.

Your brain did not feel like it was working today. You had hardly slept the night before, and the brief flashes of sleep you had gotten were peppered with nightmares. Mostly you lay awake sobbing, feeling consumed with guilt, or fretting over Draco’s life at home.

_If that had been his first couple of times with the Curse, he wouldn’t even have been able to walk. Malfoy’s clearly been exposed to it a lot._

Susan’s voice snapped you out of your concerned and exhausted haze.

“This is quite short notice,” she said, frowning a little. “Odd, isn’t it?”

“I don’t have anything to wear,” fretted Hannah. “I’ll have to get something in Hogsmeade this weekend.”

“Me too,” you added, chewing on your lip.

As if you had the brain capacity to think of fashion for a ball right now.

You thankfully did not have any classes with the Carrows that day. When you arrived at breakfast your eyes did the familiar habitual flick to seek out the tall blonde head at the Slytherin table, but the sense of nausea rose when you saw that Draco was absent from breakfast. It only worsened when you took note that he never showed.

Over the course of the day you caught two glimpses of him. Once at lunch (thankfully) and once in a corridor between classes. He looked normal enough, if not a bit tired, but Pansy was on his arm both times and you had no idea how you would find a way to speak with him alone as you wished.

* * *

Draco had checked and double checked the student schedule sheet.

He knew that she had a meeting tonight.

So it was very disconcerting when he did not see her exiting the classroom with the other students at first. He craned his neck, scanning the students who were pouring out of the Gobstones Club and who were looking at him with expressions ranging anywhere from fear to vicious loathing.

He ignored it, still searching, though he couldn’t _not_ hear a younger student muttering under their breath: “What’s _he_ doing here? Shouldn’t he be with Parkinson somewhere? Or are they even dating? Would make sense, seeing as they’re both completely vile…”

“I can hear you, you know,” Draco couldn’t help snapping, heart sinking as he realized he would have to relay this conversation to Pansy and the problems it posed. “Shut your gossiping mouths or I’ll permanently shut them for you.”

The two students’ gazes shot up, their eyes wide as saucers, and their footsteps picked up to almost a sprint to hurry away, throwing him frightened glances over their shoulders.

Draco scowled.

And then she appeared, toward the back of the exiting crowd, and he allowed powerful relief to render him momentarily motionless before he snapped into action. “Bones!”

Her eyes snapped up at her name, widening a little when she saw who had called it. But then she put her chin up and walked toward him.

“Could I…have a word?” Draco asked between gritted teeth. “Privately.”

“Sure.” Susan looked desperately curious, and she followed him down the corridor and around the corner, out of sight and earshot from anyone else.

Still, Draco double and triple checked the corridor before he spoke in a low mutter. “I have…information you could use. Under certain conditions.”

Susan’s eyebrows shot to her hairline. “Oh? What conditions, Malfoy?”

“That you confirm if my guess is correct about what you lot are doing.”

She folded her arms and gazed at him with an unreadable expression. “Fine. If you get it right, I’ll tell you. But I want to know why you’re helping.”

Draco threw her a very sour expression. “There are a few reasons.”

“Which are?” She looked expectant.

“Don’t make me say them,” he growled. “I’m sure you can guess.”

“I don’t want to guess. I want you to tell me.” She arched an eyebrow. “This demonstrates your motives, Malfoy. I need it for minimum trust. Say it. Out loud.”

He glared at her. “ _Fine_. I – I don’t like what the Death Eaters are doing, all right? The shit I see in my fucking home. I’ve hated it since the summer before this one. I hate torturing people and seeing people be tortured and having my mother used as fucking bait. I want some bloody peace from all this. I had a _life_ before this. And I – ” He paused, swallowing hard, struggling for words.

“Yes?”

“Isn’t that enough?” he hissed.

“No. Say it, Malfoy.”

Merlin, she was fucking unrelenting.

“There are people I want to…protect,” he answered furiously. “And the only way I can do that is to help you. Which I’m sure you’ve already fucking guessed.”

She looked mildly surprised. “People? Plural? I thought – ”

“No more,” he snapped. “I’ve told you enough. Now you will confirm my guess. My guess is that you are breaking into the Carrows’ office to steal the paperwork for the first years so that the Carrows can’t hurt any Mud–Muggleborns.”

Her eyebrows shot up even higher. “That is correct,” she said finally, watching him rather warily. “So you’ve decided that you’re going to help?”

“I will give you as much information on the office that I know, and I will make a suggestion.” She was silent, waiting for him continue, and he plunged forward, but not before checking the corridor again with a distinct feeling of paranoia that they were being listened to. “They have sensory detectors. I know that,” he said in a low voice. “Mostly concentrated around the entry. But they change positions every thirty minutes. There are probably windows of opportunity when the detection is concentrated in different parts of the office, and it might be possible to get in without triggering them.” He waited a moment to allow her to process the information, and then continued on. “As for the first year paperwork…it’s probably in the file cabinet closest to the far wall. By the window. You can likely expect there to be some sort of enchantment on it that keeps Alohomora from opening it, but I can get you a copy of the key. The Carrows won’t notice.”

“You can?” She appeared dumbfounded, her mouth dropping open.

He rolled his eyes. “Yes. I can. By the end of the week. But you won’t tell anyone where you got it. Not _anyone_ in your little rebel group.”

“Yes. Yes, of course,” she breathed, her eyes widening.

“I am _not_ helping, understood?” he warned. “This is our secret, Bones.”

To his horror, her eyes grew so soft that he could hardly stand to look at her. “Malfoy…” she began gently, but he cut her off, not willing to hear it.

“Since the paperwork is due on Halloween,” he continued, glaring angrily at the floor rather than look at her, “Might I suggest doing it that evening? Seeing as there is a ball now, the Carrows have a higher chance of being otherwise occupied.”

“Hold on.” At her incredulous tone, he finally looked up. “Did you plan this, Malfoy? Is that why there’s a ball on Halloween now?”

“Technically Pansy was the one to plan the ball,” he said vaguely.

She gave him a shrewd look. “But you suggested it. Didn’t you?”

He didn’t answer.

Her eyes went soft again. “Malfoy…”

“Save it,” he snapped.

She sighed. “You should join us.”

He gave a hollow laugh. “Right.”

“I’m serious.”

“Your rebels hate me. And besides, I don’t want to. I just want my peace.”

“You can’t have your peace and go around doing things in secret to protect people on the other side,” Susan pointed out, and he threw her a sneer.

“Watch me,” he said stubbornly.

She sighed again, and a frustrated crease appeared on her forehead. “Whatever, Malfoy. Fine. Well…thank you. On everyone’s behalf, even if they don’t know. I wish more people could know you were helping. Know who you are.”

“Too much risk,” he said harshly. “You’re already more risk than I like, so keep your mouth shut, Bones. And you don’t know who I am either, so stop with that shit.”

She looked pained for a moment before shaking her head slowly. “All right. You have my word,” she said solemnly. “And really…thank you. This will make a difference, Malfoy. This will help.”

“Good,” he said coldly. “If I have more information, I’ll let you know. I don’t trust you idiots to do the job properly.” He turned to leave with a swish of his robes, but her voice stopped him.

“I thought you were just doing it for Y/N,” she said curiously, and he paused, his back to her. “But it seems that you also actually want us to… _succeed_ with getting that paperwork. That doesn’t seem like someone who is neutral, Malfoy. I’m just saying.”

Emma’s face flashed across his mind.

“Well, I am,” he said gruffly, over his shoulder, before stalking away.

* * *

“Wonder why they’re doing this ball,” you commented as you, Hannah, and Susan sat in the clothing shop of Hogsmeade. It was packed – everyone was doing the same as the three of you and shopping for the Halloween ball.

“Boost morale, probably,” said Hannah, having come back from picking up her dress at the counter. She had ordered for pick up. “Make people forget for an evening that they live in hell.”

You laughed. Getting out of the castle and into Hogsmeade for the day felt good; good enough that the black humor was actually funny.

Your week had been full of sleepless nights and an unending sense of guilt. Until now, it had been impossible to find Draco alone to speak with him. He was always with Pansy throughout the day, and you couldn’t talk to him in the two classes you shared without people noticing. When the classes were over he always left as soon as possible; you had frequently tried to catch his eye, but to no avail. It was both frustrating and depressing.

Hannah smiled at you and Susan. “I was going to pop over to The Three Broomsticks already and meet the others. Should I wait? Will it still be a while or…?”

“I can meet you there,” said Susan cheerfully. “I just have to decide between these two.”

“I’ll stay with Susan,” you said, knowing that while it would be mostly pleasant to meet a group of friends in the pub of Hogsmeade it would also be significantly louder on your brain, and you could use all the relaxation time that you could get.

“See you in a bit,” said Susan, waving.

After bidding goodbye, Hannah was out the door and into the snowy street, and you were left alone with Susan. She just gave you a brief smile and held up the two dresses. “What do you think?”

“The teal one is my favorite,” you said. “But they’re both very pretty.”

“I like yours a lot too,” she said kindly. “Nothing like a woman in red. Terry will love it.”

You felt your face get warm. Terry had asked you the day that the announcement had gone up for the ball. You had accepted: as friends. “We’re just friends,” you mumbled.

“Ah,” said Susan, throwing you a searching sort glance that made you a little jittery.

“Bit lucky that Parkinson decided on this ball for Halloween, isn’t it?” you said quickly, in a low voice so as not to attract the attention of the other shoppers. You were off in your own corner and people were paying you no mind _and_ it was incredibly loud in the shop, but it was always better to be safe about these things. Dumbledore’s Army had been preparing careful plans.

“Mmm,” agreed Susan, though she was giving you that curious gaze again. “Yes. Lucky.”

She tried on the dresses once more as you praised both enthusiastically; she decided on the teal and you both made your purchases, and she looped her arm through yours as you exited the shop. The early snow of the year was curiously heavy, and it was flying in the direction of your faces as you pressed on to the pub, making you both tug your scarves even tighter.

Despite the events of the month and your anxiety about everything to come, you found that the wind and snowflakes felt good on your face, making you feel more awake and actually smile as you and Susan made your way down the main street of Hogsmeade.

This smile faltered, however, when you passed Draco coming the other direction, with Pansy hooked on his arm. They were probably making their way to exactly the same shop you had just come from. _Parkinson probably ordered hers custom made_ , you thought bitterly. _The most expensive thing possible. I wonder if he buys those things for her?_

He did not glance your direction, and bitterness and renewed guilt rolled through you like waves.

You felt Susan’s eyes on you even long after they had passed, so you peeked at her and forced a smile. “Snow feels nice, right?”

She smiled gently. “Yeah. Hey, Y/N?”

Your heart picked up speed. “Yes?”

“Can I…ask you a few questions? About last year?”

_About you and Draco Malfoy,_ was the implicit meaning that you knew she was trying to get across.

She must have seen your hesitation, because she said quickly and quietly, with a still reassuring smile. “No judgment. I admit that I’ve just been dreadfully curious. And I do want to check in with you and make sure you’re all right, you know.”

You swallowed a lump in your throat. “Oh. Um, sure.”

Susan’s voice was a low murmur, and she leaned in closer to you over the snow flurries and to make sure her voice carried to your ear only. “You and Malfoy?”

It was less a real question and more a prompting. Glancing at her, you just nodded briefly and then fixed your eyes almost unseeingly on the street.

“What was he like?” she asked. “I have a hard time picturing him…you know. In love.”

“He wasn’t in love with me,” you said dully. “He was sure to make that very clear.”

“Oh.” You saw how she blinked, clearly confused. “But he cared for you, didn’t he?”

“Yes,” you said slowly. “He could be really sweet. And good. And he’s funny, and clever. The good times were…” You exhaled shakily. “They were _really_ good,” you admitted, wondering if the tears accumulating in your eyes were from talking about him, the cold, or both. You looked at her quickly, suddenly desperate to explain. “And he was changing. He was changing a lot. I knew something was going on with him, and I knew he didn’t want to do whatever it was.”

“With Dumbledore?” she pressed, frowning in thought.

“He never told me what it was,” you mumbled. “Said it was better if I was kept out of it. But I know he…he took the Mark willingly, I think. At the beginning. But when he realized…” You stopped, exhaling sharply again. “He was so afraid. Still is. He’s still got things to work out and make better, but he’s not anything like he was before,” you said finally.

“Yes, I guessed that too,” said Susan softly.

“Well,” you said, trying to sound nonchalant and probably failing, “It’s been over between us a long time now. And as you saw, he seems to be getting on well with Parkinson.”

She squeezed your arm. “If it helps,” she said lightly, “I’m certain he still cares for you.”

“In his way,” you said, nodding slowly. “I think we’ll still look out for each other, at least.”

“I know,” said Susan quietly, and she looked so deep in thought that you almost asked her what was on your mind, or even considered listening in, but you were able to restrain yourself.

And then you were in the buzz of Honeydukes, and joining the others for a round of butterbeer, and though you didn’t completely forget about Draco or the guilt you were still feeling, by the time you were heading back to Hogwarts, your mood had still lifted considerably.

* * *

The next weeks passed quicker than you had expected.

They were a blur. A blur of extra meetings with Dumbledore’s Army, prefect patrols, trying and failing to catch Draco alone to speak with him, schoolwork, mentor meetings, prefect meetings…

You were exhausted.

The days had passed in a haze and you weren’t sure exactly how, but it was Halloween

Heading up to the ball with Susan and Hannah, you felt a multitude of emotions, but mostly nerves.

This was going to be a big event. That meant a lot of people and an extra loud buzz of their minds, which meant that you would have to concentrate in order to keep your head. And then there was the whole prospect of what you had to do afterward, the highly risky plan…

One false step, and you’d all be caught.

You swallowed with some difficulty, trying to think about something– _anything_ –else, anxiously fidgeting with your dress as you walked.

You actually quite liked the dress. The three of you had done yourselves up rather extravagantly for the evening, taking extra care on appearance and settling into the role of women excited for a dance even though you were actually women planning an act of rebellion.

Once you were only a few corridors away from where there were sure to be plenty of students congregated to meet their dates, you mumbled to Susan and Hannah, “I’ll meet you all in the Great Hall in a few minutes, okay?”

They seemed curious as to why you wanted to stay behind, but didn’t question you. “Don’t be too long,” said Susan softly, and then they both squeezed your arm and were heading down the corridor.

You ducked around the corner and pulled a tiny glass vial out of your bra, eyeing it for a moment before uncorking it and downing it with one swallow. It wasn’t much, but you hoped taking some preemptive Pain Potion would help prevent headaches from the large crowd of people, keeping your mind sharper and able to focus on the important task ahead.

You wanted to move, but your feet were frozen. Anxiety and panic welled up without restriction now that you were without the other girls and now that the time was actually here.

What if you failed?

_Don’t think about it_ , you told yourself fiercely. _We have good information, a good plan. It’ll work._

It took a few moments of deep breathing, but then you stood up straighter, rose your chin, and spun abruptly on your heel to turn the corner and continue on to the Great Hall.

But someone else had been coming around the corner at precisely that moment, and you collided with them hard, stumbling backward until they reached out to take your arm and steady you. The smell of his cologne alerted you that it was Draco before you looked up.

He had a curious expression on his face. Almost as if he had been struck with something. His mouth was slightly agape and he was blinking slowly, his gray eyes distinctly darker as he took in your dress. His gaze went unfocused for a brief moment, but then he blinked again and his eyes met yours. You suddenly felt as if you were on fire, especially at the points where his hand was still holding your arm. Quickly, however, he dropped it, clearing his throat.

“Y/N,” was all he said, though it didn’t escape your notice that his voice was deeper than usual. Mostly because your body was having very unfair reactions to it.

“Draco,” you said, trying to sound normal and nodding slowly in greeting while peering over his shoulder. You didn’t see anyone – namely, Parkinson – behind him, nor did you miss the fact that he wasn’t in his dress robes. He was, however, in a very attractive button-up and trousers, and you had to fight hard not to think about _that_ too deeply. “Are you not going to the ball?”

“I am,” he said. “Was just going to get changed, actually.”

There was a heavy, electric silence.

“Your date is Boot?” he finally asked, in a would-be casual voice except for the hint of roughness.

“Yes,” you said quietly. “Yours is Parkinson?” He nodded, but his eyes had gotten a light in them that you couldn’t quite interpret. “Well that’s…that’s good,” you said quickly, even though you didn’t find it good at all. His eyes flickered, but you spoke again before you could change your mind, because when else would you find him alone again? “I’ve actually been wanting to…do you think we could have a quick word? Is that all right?”

“Of course,” he murmured, gesturing behind you, and you jolted a little when you turned and started to walk, because he placed a hand on the small of your back.

You tried to ignore that even this was making your skin tingle and your breathing a little uneven. He led you around another corner and to yet another tapestry – his knowledge of every little hiding place in this castle really was stellar – and pushed it aside for you, following you in.

Taking a deep breath, you turned to face him, trying to mull over how to best phrase what you wanted to say to him, because somehow ‘ _I’m sorry I tortured you_ ’ didn’t seem exactly heartfelt.

“Draco…” you began, but he stepped forward and you stopped, pulse picking up speed. Slowly, he reached a hand up and brushed a stray piece of hair from your face. The movement was casual, but his eyes were not. “Um,” you started again, momentarily fumbling. “About that prefect meeting –”

“Ah yes,” he said, beginning to smile. “I figured that was what this was about. You’ve been feeling guilty all month, haven’t you?”

“Well of course I have!” you burst out, agitated at his nonchalance.

“But you heard me,” he said, taking your shoulders and looking at you seriously. “You were doing me a favor, Y/N. And not to be mean or anything, but your Cruciatus Curse really isn’t that good.” He smiled a little wider, clearly trying to lighten the mood.

“Don’t joke about this, Draco,” you said desperately.

He shrugged. “Well, I mean it. And you know that if the Carrows would have done it longer, it would have been worse. They’ve been looking for an excuse to do it to me for ages, so this was the best case scenario, really.” He paused, eyes suddenly flashing with something before going calm again. “And they would have done it to _you_ as well.”

“I wasn’t – I wasn’t worried about _that_ ,” you sputtered indignantly.

“I know,” he said quietly. “But I was.”

He still hadn’t let go of your shoulders. You were very aware of this fact, and also aware of how close he was standing to you, leaning forward intently and with eyes full of light. “Don’t you go feeling bad,” he continued firmly. “You did exactly right.”

Your eyes moved about his face and he gazed steadily back. He felt warm; his body heat was radiating off him, and it was tantalizing. All _very_ unfair.

Your hands moved tentatively to rest on his chest, despite that being one of the stupidest things possible to do. But you had been itching to touch him, to draw closer to him, ever since that horrible prefect meeting and for some reason your hands listened to the desire. When your fingertips grazed his chest, his eyes did that thing again where they went hazy for a moment before they came sharply back into focus, and it was a blazing look he was giving you now.

“Still,” you whispered, biting your lip in distress, “I’m so sorry.”

His eyes flew to your mouth and then back up to meet yours. They were nearly black again, and his expression was suddenly–possessive. Positively feral. It made your knees shake and a not unpleasant heat shoot through your entire body. And then a sound exited his throat. Something like protest, perhaps; a little groan that indicated that poise and composure had gone out the window, that an equilibrium had just been violently disturbed. Whatever it was, it was disturbingly sexy.

And then his hands flew from your shoulders to grip your face, and he was kissing you.

It was very different from earlier in the year, in the alcove. It was not tentative.

His lips were rough and desperate on yours. You responded with a probably inadvisable eagerness, reaching up to bunch his hair into fists, running your fingers through the silkiness and pulling. He made another noise in his chest that sent now heat scorching from the tips of your toes all the way up to your face, but it was nothing to how it felt when he took a few steps forward, pinning you tightly against the wall by pressing his hips forward, using his hands to tilt your head even further upward, giving him access to slip his tongue expertly across your lips and to meet yours.

It melted you. It frayed all logic and your limited willpower dissolved, and you were _his_ again, nothing else mattered, just his hands and tongue and lips and the way he had you trapped against the wall, his body firm and warm against yours; when he pressed you more roughly into the stone with his hips and bowed his lips to your neck, his fingertips feathering down your jaw and to your shoulder to slip one dress strap off to the side, you arched your back and clawed at his chest.

“ _Draco_ ,” you whispered hoarsely.

But his name, rather than spur him on, seemed to act like a bucket of ice cold water.

Immediately he froze and then stopped, yanking his mouth away and releasing his hands from you like you’d just given him an electric shock. He turned sharply away, taking a few paces and keeping his back to you, leaving you feeling both ashamed and still _wanting_ , chest heaving and face unbearably hot as you tried, unsuccessfully, to catch your breath.

“I’m–very sorry,” he finally said raggedly, still not looking at you. “I broke a rule.”

“I – I also encouraged it,” you breathed, heart still hammering like mad.

He spun around, eyes blank now. You stared, astounded at how fast he could flip a switch inside of him. He looked almost angry. “My…” He paused. “My attraction to you got the better of me. That’s _all,”_ he said harshly. _“_ I told you that I don’t want to be with you and I meant that.This shouldn’t have happened. It won’t happen again. I apologize.” His voice was stiff. Formal. Still angry.

You choked back tears, hating the sting of rejection. You wanted to say that you agreed. That of course it was a mistake and shouldn’t have happened, and that you were just still attracted to him too. That was all. No big deal.

Science. Chemistry. Attraction. Whatever.

Instead, your stupid, stupid mouth came out with:

“Are you fucking Parkinson?”

Inwardly, you cringed. Since when you were so crude?

You would have done anything to suck the words out of the space they now hung in and keep them in you instead. He stiffened, his eyebrows flying up and his mouth opening a little in surprise. And then his eyes glinted; his expression became black. “Are _you_ fucking Boot?”

When you just gaped at him indignantly he pursed his lips, eyes flashing again. “What’s the problem? Is that an intrusive question or something, Y/N?”

“Fine,” you snapped. “I get it, I shouldn’t have asked. It doesn’t matter. I’m leaving.” You made to step out of the tapestry, but he stepped forward and grabbed your wrist.

“Y/N,” he said, and his voice was much calmer and kinder.

“What?” you asked impatiently, looking up at him with tears glittering in your eyes.

“I’m still glad we could talk even if we –” He cleared his throat. “Even if we broke a rule. I don’t want you to continue feeling guilty over something you shouldn’t.”

“I would have talked to you earlier,” you mumbled. “I just couldn’t catch you alone.”

He shook your wrist a little. “I’m glad it was me,” he said. “I’m glad it wasn’t you.”

“It’s only a matter of time,” you said dully, and you saw despair flash across his face.

“That’s probably true,” he finally said slowly. “Regardless…be careful.”

You fought a sigh. “You too, Draco.”

“I hope…” He stopped, and you saw him swallow. “I hope we can maybe be…friends. Some day.”

“Bit of a stupid thing to say after snogging me like that,” you said bluntly.

“I know.” He ran an agitated hand through his hair. “But it’s true.”

“I don’t think that’s…” You trailed off, biting your lip and staring at the ground. “I still…” You stopped again, unwilling to say it out loud. “I think you know why that probably won’t work,” you mumbled, and then quickly turned to leave without looking at him again.

He didn’t stop you.

Your heart was going a mile a minute and you could still feel how hot your cheeks were. This had been a colossal mistake. You shouldn’t have tried talking to him _now_ , of all times. The last thing that you needed tonight was the added distraction of _that_ interaction.

Taking a deep breath, you hurried down the corridor and toward the ball, pushing down the want and conflict in you and the bitter taste of disappointment and hurt, swiping a few stray tears.

_Forget him_ , you told yourself fiercely. _You have a mission to do tonight._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: references to violence and torture, angst, language, heavy s n o g g i n g ;)


	12. Twelve

The plan went like this—

The Halloween Ball was supposed to last until approximately midnight.

Wine would be served to the professors just as it had at the feast, and eleven o’clock seemed a good time to try and break in to the Carrows’ office. One hour of time until the ball ended, yet late enough that the Carrows would both be sufficiently preoccupied and maybe, hopefully, a little drunk. It had been noted that Amycus in particular liked to guzzle wine at feasts.

At first you weren’t supposed to have direct involvement, but you had fought for it and now had a role to play.

You weren’t breaking in to the office yourself. That job, the most risky, had been reserved for Neville and Ginny.

Either way, the magical population was small and had to be preserved, so while torture was certainly expected for anyone involved, no _really_ pressing danger was expected for the participants if they were caught. It was much better than what would happen to Muggleborn first years when the Carrows looked through the paperwork the next day to determine parentage.

It was worth the risks.

Standing directly outside the office while Neville and Ginny tried to recover the paperwork without any magical detectors going off would be Susan and Luna Lovegood. In case Neville and Ginny’s presence triggered any alarms and the Carrows came running, they were to hand any paperwork over to Susan and Luna and the two girls could—hopefully—run off before the Carrows could arrive. That way, when the Carrows came, Neville and Ginny would be clearly guilty but empty-handed, and the Carrows wouldn’t be able to get their hands back on the papers.

Susan and Luna would run, get to a safe distance, and burn the papers to ash.

“What should I do?” you had asked at one of the many meetings during the month of October.

“There’s nothing else to do,” said Neville firmly. “We need enough people at the ball that can try and hurry ahead and alert us if one of the Carrows or any of their sympathizers leaves. And if too many of us aren’t at the ball, it will be suspicious. Crabbe, for example, is getting particularly nasty. We can’t communicate through the coins, we aren’t sure any of us can do a Protean Charm as good as Hermione’s if we get caught and they’re confiscated—"

“Just out in the Hall?” You felt rather desperate. “What if I—I could stand guard in a corridor on the way to the Carrows’ office as well? And I could come warn you in person quicker?”

Neville’s eyebrows knitted together. “There’s too much chance that you’ll be seen before you can get to us.”

“I’ll be able hear them coming!” you insisted heatedly. “I have…” You hesitated. “Very good hearing.”

_I’ll hear them before any of you will. I’ll hear every vile thought they’re having._

You fought from shuddering.

You looked so fierce that Neville seemed to relent, though he still looked uncertain. “If you think you’re able,” he said slowly. “Then that could help, yes.”

It was fair that people didn’t think you were great with spells, given that most of them had seen how bad you had been at magic for the first years at Hogwarts and not much else. But they must have noted the improvements at the meetings—and besides, Neville, of all people, should understand.

But you bit you lip from retorting that of course you were able and instead had just nodded with curt confidence.

_It’s going to work._

This had been your mantra for the past weeks since you had joined the resistance and it was the sentence you were still repeating to yourself, over and over and over, as you made your way to the Great Hall to reunite with Susan, Hannah, and all of your dates. It gave you something else to focus on besides your choking fear and the disastrous encounter you had just had with Draco.

“Y/N! _Wow_.” Terry’s eyes lit up when he saw you and flooded with awe. “You look _great_.” But then he frowned, a small crease appearing on his forehead as he took in your appearance. “Are you all right? You seem awfully…” He couldn’t seem to find a word for it.

“Disheveled,” supplied Susan, quickly stepping forward and nudging the strap of your dress up that Draco had slipped off your shoulder. Her critical eye swept over you carefully before she began smoothing down bits of your hair.

Mortified heat rose in your neck and face as you realized that you had completely forgotten to adjust your appearance in your haste to escape Draco’s presence.

The look of vague suspicion and the pointed glance Susan threw you as she stepped back again did not help.

“Oh—yes I’m—I’m fine I—" You fidgeted, your voice an octave higher than usual. The loud buzz of everyone else in the room was already beginning to bother you. It wasn’t the greatest start to the night, to say the least.

_Now it will be better._

_It has to work._

“Nervous?” finished Ernie in a low voice, glancing around carefully.

“It will be fine,” murmured Hannah, squeezing your shoulder, though she herself was looking quite pale.

Terry held out his arm and you looped yours through it, letting him guide you to the Great Hall. Susan and Ernie followed, and Hannah went off to find Neville, her date. As you made contact with Terry, you were very dismayed to find that you couldn’t block him as well as you usually could. You were too jittery, too nervous, your emotions too high, to perform proper Occulumency.

— _maybe now she’s had more time to get over whoever she was dating, maybe if I ask again…_

— _but we came here as friends, don’t want to be rude…and tonight isn’t exactly a good night for this…but Merlin, I’d like to kiss her again—_

“Y/N,” said Susan’s voice, thankfully jolting you out of your—well, Terry’s—thoughts, though they remained a low, hopeful buzz in the back of your head full of wishes and desires that you really, _really_ didn’t want to hear.

Terry was actually quite respectful in his mind. Much more so than other teenage boys you accidentally had to hear in the past, especially the very few boys you had tried to date over summers without any success. Terry tended to focus on features on your face in his stream of consciousness, and he had plenty of praise for your personality as well, (‘ _Brave, offering to stand guard, maybe I should have volunteered instead—’)_ but he wasn’t perfectly pure.

Of course he wasn’t. No one was.

And he was in his own head, after all. It wasn’t that you necessarily _faulted_ him.

But still, you did not really want to hear his low whisper in the back of your mind that your breasts looked nice in your dress, or his wish that one day you would let him undress you completely.

“Um—yes?” you said, turning to Susan and unhooking your arm from Terry’s without looking at him. You could not worry about the offense he would take. You had to concentrate tonight.

“Come get some punch with me.” She took your wrist and pulled you off, not even leaving you time to refuse.

Numbly surprised, you trotted along with her into the Great Hall, throwing Terry a slightly apologetic, small smile and a wave over your shoulder.

The Great Hall was spectacularly decorated. Whoever had done it really knew what they were doing. The live bats that normally donned the Halloween feast at Hogwarts were there, fluttering near the ceiling, unable to come lower due to an invisible spell barrier. The only lights in the room were hanging candles, giving the whole Hall both a distinctly festive and creepy aura; rather perfect for Halloween.

The four House tables had been put up and off to the side, and the room felt even more gigantic than it usually did, as if it stretched on and on. Snack and punch tables were lined up on the sides, and there were much more people in here than had been just outside. This was almost the entire school; there was no age restriction on this ball as there had been at the Yule Ball.

_No emotion, no emotion_ , you chanted to yourself, but you still felt like you were losing control.

Upon walking into the room, your knees had almost buckled from the noise and you struggled with tears in the corners of your eyes.

A headache was already coming on.

_Focus_ , you growled to yourself.

Susan dragged you over to the first available punch table, handed you a glass, and took one herself. And then she raised an eyebrow at you. “Spill,” was all she said simply.

“I—um—"

“Where did you go? When you separated from Hannah and I? You were gone for almost fifteen minutes.” She tilted her head at you, concern on her face, and said, “Is everything all right?”

“Yes,” you said quickly. “Yes I—I went off to take some Pain Potion.”

“Pain Potion,” she repeated, not quite looking like she believed you.

“I get headaches,” you explained. “They’ve been…quite bad lately.”

Her brow furrowed. “This was something you had to do in private? Are you _sure_ you’re all right?”

“Really, I’m fine.” You tried to take a sip of your punch and remain casual, but her eyes on you were making you exceptionally nervous, so you rambled. “It’s…the reason I get the headaches is just…um. Very personal. I didn’t really want to have to explain. That’s all.”

“Well…okay,” she said uncertainly. “But if you ever need help…”

“I know,” you said. “Thank you.” You shot her a small, grateful smile over the rim of your glass.

And then she leaned forward, a bit of a glint in her eye. “And on your way back you ran into Malfoy and you two snogged or something, didn’t you?”

“I— _what_?” you gasped, eyes widening. Had it been so obvious?

“I know how to put two and two together,” said Susan, taking a drink of her punch, her eyes surveying the dance floor thoughtfully for a moment before coming back to you. “I saw him heading that direction. You took longer than usual. And then you show up with mussed hair, a dress strap off your shoulder, and your lipstick almost entirely gone.”

“Oh my god,” you whispered, very embarrassed now. “Do you think the others—”

“No,” she said. “I don’t think so.” She paused, frowning. “I thought this wasn’t ongoing with Malfoy?”

“It isn’t,” you said, wishing you could die on the spot. “It was…an accident.”

“An accident?” She looked doubtful. “What, like you fell onto his mouth?”

You narrowed your eyes at her, and her lips twitched in amusement. You sighed. “It wasn’t…we were just talking. And then we—we sort of just got closer—"

“Yes, I can fill in the gaps,” said Susan dryly. “Was this the first ‘accident’?”

“No,” you said miserably. “There was one more. Earlier this year.”

“And that number would be three, I assume, had we not interrupted the two of you near the Room of Requirement that night a few weeks ago.” You felt your face get very hot, but she just reached out and gripped your shoulder. “I’m worried about you.”

“Don’t be,” you squeaked. “I’m fine—"

“I’m not denying Malfoy has changed.“ Her voice was gentle. “Or that he still cares about your safety. But I do see him a lot with Parkinson and I know you do too, because every time you see them together it looks to me like a piece of you quite literally dies, so I don’t want…” She stopped, sighing. “I don’t want you to get keep getting hurt, that’s all. You looked very upset when you found us again today.”

“Yes. Well, we agreed it won’t happen again,” you said, voice small.

The anger on Draco’s face and in his voice as he had said it came back to you, and you felt a raw ache in your chest. The buzzing of the other people in the room grew louder, crashing over you like waves. You had to fight hard the impulse to cover your ears and run out for some blessed relief.

It was then that Neville and the others joined you. Terry slipped up beside you and gave you a hopeful smile, which you weakly returned, thankful he was not touching you. At least not yet. There were still a few hours of the dance to endure before the plan.

The thought was…difficult to bear.

“There they are,” muttered Neville, jerking his head to the right, and everyone peeked briefly over to get a glimpse of the Carrows.

“Perfect,” breathed Terry. “Is there a way to subtly get them more to drink?”

“I have an idea,” Hannah piped in. “I think I know a spell that could…make the alcohol content of their drinks higher. We’d have to walk by and try and cast it on each glass they drink, but…”

“That could work,” said Neville. “The more out of their usual element they are, the better. Oh, look. Ginny and Luna are here.” Everyone’s heads turned to see the two girls entering the Great Hall together, looped arm in arm.

“Hannah, do you think you can manage that spell?” continued Neville. “Or try? You and I can dance, and when we pass them on the dance floor…”

“Absolutely,” said Hannah.

Her face was a little ashen colored but she looked determined.

“We should disperse,” said Susan. “All of us standing together too long is going to start looking suspicious.”

“Y/N? Should we dance a bit?” Terry held out his arm with a friendly smile.

You stared at it distrustfully, long enough for him to notice and for his face to fall. Merlin, what was _wrong_ with you? The loudness of the room was giving you too many problems with concentration and, apparently, with acting normally. It would be a relief to get into the corridor and stand guard.

Alone.

Trying hard to ignore the steady pounding behind your eyes, you tentatively accepted Terry’s hand and let him pull you out into the dance floor.

_Focus_ , you told yourself. _Focus, compartmentalize, be empty…_

The group gradually moved out into the dance floor, splitting into pairs but being aware of where other members of Dumbledore’s Army were at all times.

You saw Neville and Hannah dancing close to the Carrows, and wondered if she was successful with her spell; you saw Susan and Ernie, and Parvati and Seamus, and Ginny and Luna, and so many others, dancing but carefully meeting each other’s eyes and watching the Carrows. For a moment, despite everything, you felt better.

There were a lot of rebels. So many fighting, all together. You weren’t alone.

Somewhere in the seventh dance, Terry made a disgusted noise in his throat.

You glanced up at him, surprised, and then followed his narrowed gaze to find it on the doorway.

Your stomach twisted violently. Draco and Pansy had finally arrived, and people were giving them a wide berth as they entered arm in arm. Just looking at him made you feel warm with embarrassment again.

Hastily you turned your head back to Terry, who was looking positively murderous. “Malfoy’s a fucking wanker,” he growled.

“Mmm,” you said noncommittally, both because you definitely did not want to talk about Draco with Terry (or at all) and because your head was hurting so badly you could hardly stand it.

“You know he keeps taking points from me whenever we run into each other?”

You stiffened. “What?”

“Yeah. It’s always so obvious that it’s for made up reasons, too. As if House points even matter this year. He’s just trying to puff out his chest and seem bigger than he actually is.” Terry scowled heavily. “Everyone knows he doesn’t hold leverage as a Death Eater anymore. I’m surprised he’s still alive.”

Suddenly you felt cold, and you stumbled a little in the dance steps. “He’s Pureblood,” you found yourself saying. Mechanically. A reassurance. Something you had to believe or else you thought you might lose it. “They can’t afford to spill too much magical blood, can they? And especially not his. They need his lineage.” The thought made you sick, but if their horrible ideology was keeping him alive, at least you had one thing to be grateful for.

“Wouldn’t be a loss,” Terry muttered, and you considered slapping him.

It was quiet for a moment, and you hoped that meant he was done talking about the matter. But—

“Do you think he and Parkinson—”

“I don’t know,” you snapped, cutting him off as another stabbing sensation shot through your head. “There are other things to focus on tonight, Terry.”

When he pulled back to see your glare, you got a particularly loud wave of his consciousness.

He was feeling guilty, but he was also thinking that you looked sexy when you were angry, and then he was staring at your mouth, and he was remembering the feel of it on his lips—

“Ugh,” you hissed, wrenching away and stalking over to the punch table.

You angrily snatched a glass and dipped it into the punch bowl; you did not see who had come up beside you, also busying themselves with getting a glass of punch, until you heard the familiar lilt of Draco’s voice—cool and quiet, a murmur out of the corner of his mouth.

“Trouble in paradise?”

You tensed, but otherwise gave no other indication that his words had affected you. You didn’t look up at him either. You didn’t want to look at his eyes. “I’m not in the mood, Malfoy.”

You glanced around surreptitiously. You couldn’t take it anymore. You couldn’t wait another second.

No one appeared to be paying attention, so you slipped another miniature vial of Pain Potion out of your bra and tipped it quickly into your punch before stuffing the vial away again.

“Did you just—” His voice sounded hoarse. “What was that?”

“Pain Potion,” you said, still not looking at him. You tilted the punch back and drank the entire thing. “My head feels like it’s going to fucking explode. All these bloody people.”

“Leave,” he said immediately. “Go get some rest tonight.”

Terry’s voice cut in before you respond. “Harassing my date, Malfoy?”

Well.

This just kept getting better and better.

Terry was suddenly beside you, drawn up to stand taller. Even at his tallest, he was nowhere near the height of Draco, who towered over him. Draco had folded his arms and arched his eyebrow, appearing cool and nonchalant. “I’m just getting some punch.” And then his silver eyes glinted. “Five points from Ravenclaw for not allowing me to simply drink my punch in peace, Boot.”

“You pompous little _fucker,_ ” snarled Terry, hand twitching toward his wand.

“Five more for your fucking language.” Draco smirked, clearly enjoying himself.

“Terry, let’s go.” You took him by the sleeve and pulled him forcefully away before he could say or do anything rash, because he looked ready to murder. And if you stayed another moment you’d hex them both out of sheer irritation, and that would be a real problem.

Dancing after that was a nightmare.

Terry seethed and ranted about Draco for at least twenty minutes.

You still weren’t able to block out his thoughts. The potion had helped your headache a bit, but only enough to dull some of the pain, not the buzz.

In fact, that almost seemed as if it were getting worse.

To add to all this, you now also unwittingly caught glimpses of Draco and Pansy dancing when you regularly looked for the other members of Dumbledore’s Army throughout the night among the ball, try as you might to avoid it. She always seemed to be pressed uncomfortably close to his chest. His hands seemed far too at home on her waist.

By quarter to eleven, you were surprised that you had made it this long.

The pain in your head was nearly blinding, and you couldn’t wait for the next twenty minutes to pass. You could finally slip out, be alone, stand guard, and maybe gather yourself after all of the emotions of the evening.

Either way, it would be enough to get out of the horrid noise, which was now as loud as an angry swarm of bees flying around in your brain.

As per the plan, you met Neville and Ginny at the punch bowl, keeping a casual distance from each other.

Susan and Luna would leave first to get to the office. Separately. Five minutes apart. The three of you were to linger and chat by the punch bowl, keeping a careful eye on the Carrows, and then they would leave to do the actual breaking in with you following as soon as it was clear to do so.

Hannah’s spell seemed to have worked, if Amycus and Alecto’s loud, booming voices and excessively raucous peals of laughter were any indication. They also did not seem very steady on their feet as they moved about the Great Hall. Seeing this gave you a flare of hope in your chest. _It has to work._

At 10:50, Susan slipped out.

At 10:55, Luna was next.

Your eyes never left the Carrows. This was your job now. And once out of this blasted Hall, your job would be to listen for their minds and keep them from their office. You knew implicitly that if you wouldn’t see them with enough time to get to the office, you would have to try and distract them.

The thought was not pleasant, so you tried not to focus on it.

Two more minutes to eleven.

As your eyes scanned the dance floor following Alecto Carrow, they snagged on Pansy and Draco.

There was something about the look on his face that kept your gaze there longer than usual this time. The set of his mouth. The way he was staring at her, brow slightly creased. She said something; he closed his eyes and sighed. You couldn’t determine his expression from this angle. It was too far away to decipher it. But when he opened them again, there was clear intention on his features.

And then he reached down, took Pansy’s face in his hands, tilted it up, and bowed his head to kiss her.

Behind you, every single one of the glasses on the punch table shattered simultaneously.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: language, sexual themes, alcohol & intoxication, mentions of torture, angst. high probability of a desire to slap Draco. and me


	13. Thirteen

Too many things happened at once.

Glass shards and punch went flying in a radius of a few feet from the table. You could feel the hard pieces hitting your back and the punch spraying onto your dress and getting into your hair as you, Neville, and Ginny as well as the other students near the table gasped or shrieked in surprise and ducked slightly to protect against the barrage raining through the air. There were screams and shouts of astonishment from all around the room, and then everyone became deathly quiet.

There were footsteps rushing toward you, toward the table, but you couldn’t see who was coming.

Overwhelming fury and agony had completely collapsed the slowly crumbling wall you had constructed in your mind that night. The buzzes became louder, swelling to an unbearable volume, and suddenly the entire school was talking, _shouting_ in your head; the headache was so painful that you could no longer see. 

Tears were streaming down your cheeks and you let out a little moan of pain, covering your ears, but it did nothing to stifle the sounds.

“What is it?” It was Terry’s voice, rough and concerned. Vaguely, you became aware that he was kneeling beside you. You thought maybe Neville and Ginny were too.

_No_ , you wanted to scream at them. _Go, slip away, keep to the plan, don’t let me ruin it…_

“What’s this, eh?” A vicious voice was speaking now.

Oh god. _No_.

Not Amycus Carrow.

His voice was so close and you couldn’t open your eyes to see him, but his words were slurred and he sounded furious. Ready to punish. “What happened? Damaged the entire punch bowl? Look at this fucking mess! Stupid little bitch can’t control her magic! That’ll be a week’s detent–”

“No, it will not.” A woman’s voice. Professor Sprout. You had almost forgotten that other professors were here. You wanted to sob with relief. Instead you just sobbed from the headache. “She’s in my house, Amycus, and she’s clearly not well. What is it, dear? What hurts?” Her voice was closer. Soft. You felt a hand on your shoulder and her mind became amplified, so you shuddered away.

“Headache,” you rasped, shaking. “My head is pounding–I can’t–”

“I’m in charge of punishment!” Amycus roared. “I overrule you, Pomona, Head of House or no–”  
  
“But you do not overrule _me_.”

You opened your eye a fraction to see Headmaster Snape standing above you. His face was unfathomable, almost expressionless, and he had spoken calmly, but there was no denying the easy authority in his posture as he stared at Amycus. His black eyes flicked to Neville and Ginny, and he looked at them so long you felt rather uneasy. “Weasley,” he said finally, his voice hard and commanding. “Longbottom. Please escort her to the Hospital Wing. Now.”

They wasted no time in obeying. By now it was almost certainly past eleven and the plan was rapidly spiraling. If you ruined it with your idiocy, you would never, ever forgive yourself.

Once outside the Hall, the quiet settled over you like a soothing blanket and it felt so good you wanted to curl up in a ball and just cry some more. The headache was still making your brain feel like it was on fire, but you could already tell that it would fade with some time and being out here, away from others. But there was no way that you could enter that ballroom again tonight.

“Go,” you mumbled quickly. “I’ll be fine.”

“Are you sure?” Ginny sounded distressed. “We don’t just want to leave you–”

Your eyes flew open. “Susan and Luna are already waiting! We’re running behind schedule! You have the perfect cover for being absent now, so use it. _Go_!” you hissed, clutching your head and wincing as a painful stab poked through it. They only paused to glance at each other before each gripping your shoulder, murmuring a promise to check on you later, and sprinting away.

Miserably, you made your way to a corridor just out of the Great Hall and sank to sit on the floor, eyes closed and still screwed up from the headache, head tilted against the stone wall. The floor felt cool against your legs. It was nice; your entire body was burning up.

There was no point in going to the Hospital Wing. Pomfrey had known of your condition since you had come to Hogwarts. She could no nothing for your head. You just needed your peace and quiet. But you still wanted to keep guard as you had planned.

Just one minute.

One minute of sitting here to gather yourself and you would get up to watch.

The plan couldn’t fail. It had to work.

Gradually, as the seconds ticked by, the pain ebbed a little. Enough to think clearly. When you started to stand, the pain was still enough to make you wobbly on your feet, but you grimaced and used the wall to edge yourself determinedly to a standing position.

For a moment, the image of Draco and Pansy was burned into your retinas.

It seemed they were, in fact, in a romantic relationship as you had suspected.

You tried to force it away.

There were other, much more important things happening.

_Compartmentalize_ , you told yourself, but it was Draco’s voice you heard from one of the many memories of Occulumency lessons, and rage, for half a second, blinded you again.

How _dare_ he? How dare he kiss you like that and turn around and shamelessly do the same to Pansy within the span of a few hours? Draco had his flaws–you were well aware of that–but before tonight you had never taken him to be the cheating type, nor the type that fluttered from woman to woman, purposefully toying with their feelings and affections.

Quite the opposite, actually. You had always held the impression that while it was rather difficult to earn his loyalty, once done he was…fiercely loyal. It did not matter whether that loyal feeling was extended to a family member or a friend or a girlfriend. Once cemented, he was unwavering with it.

It was, you had previously suspected at least, the reason why he seemed to have a difficult time accepting the transition to very distanced acquaintances. He had decided on a powerful loyalty and he intended to keep it–strangers would not do.

You kicked yourself for not realizing that yet again it seemed that you had been wrong about him. Once more, you just were the stupid girl that had let infatuation get in the way.

It was possible you were angrier at yourself than you were at him.

Shaking yourself a little, you stalked toward the Carrow’s office, ignoring the pounding still in your head. You stopped only two corridors away. Anyone coming toward the office had to pass through here.

This was where you could wait.

_They must be at the office by now_ , you realized, feeling a thrill of both fear and hope. But then you distinctly heard footsteps. You froze, terrified–but you relaxed when your heard who it was before you saw him coming around the corner.

“Y/N!” Terry looked endlessly relieved as he rushed forward, taking your hands in his. “I decided to come take your spot, seeing as you were going to the Hospital, but–are you all right?” He reached up and moved his thumbs across your face, frowning. “You’re crying.”

“I’m fine,” you said quickly. “My head felt a bit better and I wanted to…to make sure we see the plan through. So I came here instead, to wait and see if–” You broke off, suddenly tense.

Knowing this was going to hurt you opened your mind further, focusing as far in the distance as you could.

Terry’s thoughts were obscuring more than usual, but there was no doubt that someone was coming. You couldn’t tell who. But they were close. Too close. Their footsteps were already thudding around the closest corner. “ _Go_!” you whispered to Terry urgently, panic swelling up and choking you. “Go warn the others that someone is coming!”

“But–”

“I’ll distract them. _Go_ , Terry!” You gave him a rough shove, and he turned on his heel and fled down the corridor. He had just vanished out of sight when the other person appeared.

It was Crabbe.

Automatically, your hand moved to the pocket of your robes containing your wand, heart pounding hard and trying to focus on his approach rather than let the agony in your head overwhelm you. Crabbe was, quite possibly, the worst person to see here after the Carrows. And considering your duel with him not too long ago, he had every reason to already be extra hostile to you.

Had he even been at the ball? Shit–you didn’t think he had been. He was still in regular robes.

“Whatcha doin’ here, Puff?” His dark eyes were glinting with suspicion and something that looked like triumph as he lumbered toward you; his wand was already out.

You tried hard to keep your head and not to spiral into terror, but you had to choke over a lump in your throat before you could even speak. “I–had a headache. Needed some quiet.”

“Right far away from the ball for needing quiet,” he grunted. “Whatcha doin’ _here_ , I asked.”

“I wanted a bit of a walk,” you snapped. “Is that a crime? What are _you_ doing here?”

“Was asked to get somethin’ from the Carrows’ office,” he said, and fresh horror washed over you, though you hoped you kept your face expressionless. “Move aside, Halfblood, or I’ll move you. Don’t make me duel you like last time.” His eyes flashed. “No one around now to help. You’re right lucky I’m in a hurry, or I’d get my payback now like I’ve been wantin’.”

Your breathing was coming in little wheezes. Your head was burning. Adrenaline was making all your muscles tense and lock in place as he came closer.

When he was too close, you pulled out your wand and pointed it at him. “Don’t come near me.” You wished your voice wasn’t shaking so badly.

“Move, bitch,” he growled, raising his wand.

For a long moment you both just stood, wands raised and pointed at each other.

His head and his thoughts were loud. He wanted to hurt you. Badly. He wanted to toss his wand aside and yank you by the hair and put his fists in your face and your stomach and continue kicking you once you were down until you bled and begged, and that’s exactly what he told himself that he would be doing if he weren’t so determinedly focused on getting to the Carrow’s office.

_Just a little longer_ , you thought hopefully. _They must be nearly done…they must have the papers…_

Your eyes were watering again. Your head had not recovered. Everything hurt and your very limited focus was slipping away, but you still heard the intent to send a spell at you in his mind before his mouth said the words. A distinct advantage. 

That was why, when he was opening his mouth to hex you aside, you were already flourishing your wand to produce a shield and defend yourself.

But it didn’t work.

The concentration you had so carefully cultivated over the last year was still too fragile. Tonight had been too much. Too difficult on your mind. In an instant, it was as if you had reverted to the first five years of Hogwarts–waving a wand, saying the incantation, but the spell simply not working.

And so when you cried “ _Protego_!”, no shield came.

Crabbe’s spell hit you square in the chest one second after.

It felt like you had been hit with a train. It swept all the air from your lungs and you landed, hard, on the stone floor some feet away, wheezing desperately. Things were not improved by the hard kick he aimed at your ribs as he walked by. You cried out when his foot collided with you, curling in a tighter ball. “Be thankful I’m busy. It’ll be worse next time,” Crabbe promised, hovering menacingly over you for a few seconds before he spat on you and kept walking to his destination.

_No_ , you thought desperately. _I have to warn them or stop him, I have to…_

Fumbling for your wand, you pulled yourself up with great effort just enough to point it at him. “ _Stupefy_!” you whispered, but nothing happened. You were useless again.

Crabbe had heard your attempt to stop him. He had paused for a moment, turning to study you, and then he let out a cruel laugh before whipping around and continuing on his way.

Every movement was agony. Your head was going to explode. He must have cracked a rib or two and his spell still hadn’t allowed you to catch your breath–it felt like your chest was collapsing.

When a second wordless spell still didn’t work, you knew you had no other alternative.

You tucked your wand away, dragged yourself to your feet, and broke into a sprint, leaping as soon as you were near enough to latch onto Crabbe’s back, aiming to disorient him by poking your fingers into his eyes, or perhaps to scratch his face and disturb his balance so that you could hold him off physically from the office, at least for a while. It mostly worked–your nails clawed the side of his cheek and he howled in pain, stumbling and dropping his wand. You clung to him for dear life; Crabbe was powerful and had a lot of momentum and muscle mass, and if you let go of him now you would go sailing through the air and get seriously injured.

He was twisting and turning, trying to throw you off, but you dug your nails into his skin harder. Another grunt of pain mixed with a feral sort of snarl tumbled over his lips, and he attempted to reach around and pull you off with one of his arms.

Not knowing what else to do, you sank your teeth hard into his shoulder.

Crabbe howled again, cursing you and stumbling around, still twisting his body and trying to throw you off, scrabbling at your arms and scraping so hard he drew blood, but still you clung to him.

He was only inches from the wall now; and he suddenly launched himself sideways and slammed into it back first, and you felt the hard stone smack against the back of your head. You shrieked in pain and saw stars; for a moment you were so dizzy from the impact that your grip on him loosened.

Crabbe took advantage of this, wrapping his arm roughly around your right wrist and pulling– _hard_.

You heard a shout. 

A few shouts from behind you, so you knew they weren’t Crabbe’s. But you didn’t find out who they belonged to, though two of the voices sounded suspiciously like the Carrows. That was your last coherent thought.

All you knew, for the few moments after that, was sickening pain.  
  
Crabbe had yanked on your arm so hard that there was a crunching sound, a loud _pop;_ you screamed from the agony of it, and with another inhuman sounding roar of rage, Crabbe used your momentary distraction to pluck you easily from his back and hurl you at the opposite wall, rather like one tosses a doll across a room. For the second time you felt your head hit the stone as you collided with the wall; and the crack was even louder this time, echoing through your skull.

Everything went black before you hit the ground.

* * *

When you opened your eyes, you saw a ceiling. Barely. It was very blurry.

“Sit up,” said a harsh voice.

Your head was heavy and throbbing. There were spots in your limited vision and a faint ringing in your ears. You let out a little moan of pure agony.

“STAND HER UP!” roared the voice again, and arms took you and yanked you up.

You cried out again, louder this time, clutching desperately at your right shoulder, which hurt so badly you wanted to pass out. Your vision still hadn’t become clear, and you felt like you were going to throw up; once on your feet, you simply collapsed to the ground again.

“You also saw Crabbe throw her at that wall,” said a steely, cold voice. You knew that voice. Everything was too confusing to put a name to it yourself, but hope blazed through your chest. “It isn’t surprising she can’t stand. She’s injured, and it looks like she has a severe concussion.”

“Shut it, Malfoy,” snarled the first voice. Drunk. Slurring. “That’s _her_ problem, ain’t it? Crabbe, _make her fucking stand_. And fix that bloody shoulder. I can see the bone sticking out from here.”

Again, the person behind you–Crabbe, it seemed–yanked you roughly to your feet.

He took hold of your arm and pulled.

You screamed, slumping forward, but he held you up with his arms and you weren’t able to fall back to the ground. Consciousness nearly slipped away again but you held on, mostly because you heard multiple voices, angry growls of protest, that told you that you weren’t alone in the room.

In the capture. That was what it was. You had been…breaking into the office. You remembered now. The details were difficult to string together but…yes. That was it.

Blearily, you opened your eyes and tried to make sense of what you were seeing. It was difficult. It felt like your brain was sliding away, and the nausea only got worse when you attempted to see clearly. The tears made everything blurrier too.

But after a few moments, you got a grasp of the room you were in. The Carrow’s office.

Five others were with you: Neville, Ginny, Terry, Susan, and Luna.

You swayed on the spot, feeling sicker.

Alecto Carrow was there. And Amycus. They were across the room, and they looked furious.

And–

You almost choked. Draco, Head Boy badge glittering on his chest, was there too, and Pansy was beside him. Draco was paler than usual, his mouth pressed into a thin line. His eyes lingered on yours before he looked away, watching Amycus Carrow warily, for he had stepped forward.

“Thought you’d all break in and burn the paperwork, eh?” Amycus said dangerously. “Didn’t properly avoid my detectors, did ya? I knew immediately someone was snooping around in here.”

For a moment, you felt relief. You weren’t even sure why. You only knew he had said something that gave you triumph. The paperwork? Burned?

Your head was too fuzzy. Confusing. Nothing made too much sense.

But the next words sucked all the joy and hope and left you in despair.

“What did you think you’d achieve?” Alecto was drunk too. It was obvious on her face and by the way she tilted a little was she took a few paces forward. “You stupid little rebel idiots. We’ll just ask for the paperwork again. We have time. One more month or two to properly weed out the little Mudblood animals isn’t anything to us.” She paused, her eyes flashing dangerously.

Amycus clucked his tongue, eyes glinting dangerously. “And three prefects among you–how disappointing. Dirty little blood traitor rebels.”

“Just torture us and get it over with then,” spat Neville roughly.

You continued to fight to hold onto consciousness. You didn’t think you’d last much longer. Your head was pounding painfully and the nauseous feeling was rising so quickly that you were quite certain you’d actually throw up soon, and your eyes were still streaming tears. Occulumency was completely out of the question, and the emotional turmoil of the minds of the others in the room was so powerful that you would have collapsed again had Crabbe not been holding you in place.

At Neville’s words, Alecto Carrow’s eyes flashed.

But when she spoke, her voice was eerily calm. “I’m going to make this very simple,” she said, and then she had moved her wand before you could register who she was pointing it at.

“ _Avada_ _Kedavra_!”

A jet of green light – a loud whistling, whooshing sound –

And Susan, standing on the far end with her hands bound, crumpled to the floor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: language, angst, mentions of torture and messed up war/genocide stuff, intoxication and alcohol, and….(!)a pretty violent struggle, somewhat graphic & with injuries, (!)character death


	14. Fourteen

There was a terrible scream. There were many terrible sounds, screams and yells–

Draco stood, completely frozen, staring at Susan Bones curled in a ball on the floor.

The five caught rebels seemed to be in a state of shock. Only Longbottom appeared to have recovered from that part and had moved to the anger, as he was now struggling furiously against his bonds. The others had all fallen to their knees.

Y/N slumped forward but her arms were being held by Crabbe, and so she just hung there like some sort of horrid rag doll, staring at her friend dead on the floor. Draco could still see that the bones in her shoulder weren’t quite right; that Crabbe hadn’t fixed it completely.

Bones was dead, really dead, lying there limply, eyes open –

Draco had seen death before. More than enough. But–

_L_ _ook away, close your mind, no emotion_ _–_

Y/N began to choke and cough and she strained against Crabbe’s arms and began retching, but nothing came out. There were tears streaming down her face.

_She needs medical attention_ , Draco thought numbly. _I_ _f they’re_ _all_ _tortured she might break_ _too quickly_ _after her head injury_.

Alecto was smiling triumphantly. “You think we won’t spill a little magical blood from rebels?” she taunted, cackling at the looks on their faces. “Guess again.” She sauntered forward, her steps still wavering with her intoxication. “What shall we do with your friend, hmm? We should Transfigure the body, eh, so it’s easier to bury?” She raised her wand, eyes glittering. “I could turn her into troll shit. Fertilize the soil so she’s actually useful. What do you all think about that?”

“You absolute fucking monst–” Ginny Weasley began furiously, but Amycus Carrow cast the Cruciatus on her so fast that Weasley couldn’t finish the words. She screamed and screamed and screamed, and Draco was painfully aware of Y/N’s continued sobs. The sound was like an uncomfortable spike going up his spine, and he had to fight not to start nervously twitching.

_Her head_ , he thought, panicked. _She hears it all,_ _she can’t block_ _…_

“You’ll let us bury her properly,” snarled Longbottom to the Carrows.

“You’re in no position to make demands, Longbottom.” Alecto laughed, and Longbottom opened his mouth to argue, but Alecto spoke viciously over him. “There are two other Halfbloods here I’d be happy to use the Killing Curse on if you take issue with our choices.” She gestured lazily to Terry and Y/N, and Draco’s mouth was moving before he could think.

“Stand down, Longbottom.” If Longbottom opened his mouth Draco would sprint over and physically close it. He could feel all his muscles vibrating in preparation. “ _Now_.” Longbottom glared back at him defiantly.

But then Pansy spoke too. “Do it, Neville!” Her voice was very sharp.

Longbottom pursed his lips and moved his gaze to the floor, eyes blazing, but he said no more.

“Good boy,” said Amycus, clearly amused. “Smarter than your parents, eh? Now, since you’re so mouthy, you can be the one to fertilize…” He waved his wand, and Susan was gone. In her place, the smell rancid and horrible, was troll dung.

Ginny Weasley let out a feral sounding shriek of pure fury, though she wisely did not say anything.

“We’ll have our Heads and Crabbe take care of the rest. What do you say, Crabbe? You deserve more recognition around here. You’ve been so loyal and helpful.” Amycus gave him a lopsided smile.

“Me?” Crabbe’s slow, stupid voice was delighted. “I’d be honored.”

“Very good. Then take Longbottom out to the gardens. Let him have the proper burial like he so badly wanted.” 

Amycus and Alecto both let out cruel laughs; Y/N’s sobs rose in volume, and Luna Lovegood scooted along the floor to be closer to her in a gesture of solidarity, but Draco noted that the blonde seemed to know not to touch her.

Alecto and Amycus were already heading out the door with satisfied smiles, but they addressed Draco and Pansy on the way. “They can go back to their dormitories. Hands bound, no wands, and knowing the consequences for their actions, I’m sure they won’t cause more problems tonight.”

And then they left, both laughing hysterically.

Y/N slumped even more against Crabbe’s arms, and he let out a growl of protest. “Malfoy, this one won’t even stand.” He sounded suddenly amused, his grin wolfish. His arms came around her waist, and he began to haul her over his shoulder. Y/N and the other captured students let out loud noises of aggressive dissent and weakly, Y/N tried to struggle with him, even with her tied hands and what was sure to be a completely disoriented state with her head injury. Crabbe just chuckled and Draco stood frozen, thinking wildly, the blood pounding in his brain.

“You deal with Longbottom, Malfoy,” grunted Crabbe. “Lemme just take this one to–”

“How dare you presume to give me orders,” snapped Draco, taking his wand out and pointing it at him. “You won’t take her anywhere, Crabbe. Put her down. _Now_.”

Crabbe let out something like a snarl and opened his arms, dumping Y/N unceremoniously to the floor. Luna Lovegood let out a concerned little screech, Ginny and Neville shouted, and Terry Boot yelled a furious insult at Crabbe before half shouting, “She’s badly injured, you _fucking_ –”

“Quiet,” said Draco harshly, who knew he didn’t have much time. “Crabbe, with Longbottom. Go.”

“Y/N needs medical attention,” said Ginny. “Malfoy…please…”

“I’m aware,” said Draco dryly, trying hard not to betray just how desperately aware he was.

Crabbe lumbered out of the room with Longbottom; the others in the room were glaring at him, but he couldn’t let them see his distress. 

Luna was cautiously helping Y/N to her feet, her hands only lightly grazing Y/N’s arms. Y/N’s eyes were very hazy.

Y/N swayed for a moment–and then she bolted.

For a second, Draco was so surprised that he stood stock still, unable to process it. She shouldn’t have been able to even move so quickly, much less sprint out of the room. But apparently she was determined enough to get away from people to do so.

“Shit,” he hissed, and he tore off after her.

There were more footsteps following after him. Shouts.

Fuck, if Y/N ran into the Carrows–

He picked up speed. How was she moving so fast? But she wasn’t heading back toward the ball. In fact, she seemed to be going in the direction of her alcove.

“Y/N!” he shouted, but she didn’t turn or stop or slow down.

She only kept running, though she no longer was going in a straight line and she had begun stumbling occasionally, so Draco now caught up very quickly indeed. Instead of grabbing at her, fearing it would cause injuries, he sprinted ahead and blocked her way. She tried to step around him, but he kept moving in front of her. She let out a wail of frustration and sank to the ground, crying.

“MALFOY!”

Draco glanced over Y/N’s shoulder, from the direction he had come, heart pounding, to see Boot also running toward them. Draco cursed Pansy for not sending a Tripping Jinx at him in time. Boot was panting, struggling uselessly against his bound hands. “Malfoy, I realize that you’re a horrible person, but for once do something good–if I don’t get her to the Hospital Wing–”

“I know,” Draco said, glaring. “I wasn’t going to let her go without medical help, Boot, but in case it escaped your notice, she ran off.”

“Y/N.” Boot’s eyes slid to her and away from Draco, his voice very urgent and fearful. “Come on.”

“T-Terry?” She seemed extremely confused. 

Fuck, she needed her head looked at. Draco’s heart was pounding like mad, every sense heightened, but he was afraid to reach out and touch her.

“Yes,” said Boot encouragingly. “Come on. I’ll get you to the Hospital Wing. We should hurry.” He reached out with his tied together hands and tried to touch her arm but she swayed, eyes now completely unfocused. 

And then she shrank away from the contact, edging closer to Draco instead.

Draco felt, momentarily, a vicious surge of very petty triumph.

But then Y/N tipped sideways, and Draco was completely distracted with running forward to catch her, with brushing her hair away from her face and seeing that she had gone completely unconscious. “ _Shit_ ,” he muttered anxiously, forgetting for a second that Boot was even there. It was not good to let someone who had hit their head sleep like this, he was quite certain.

Then he looked up and he saw Boot’s face. 

“She went to you,” said Boot. He sounded both disbelieving and furious, and his eyes were wide; and then they suddenly widened further, and Draco detected the telltale sign of comprehension flooding in them.

“She has a concussion. She was obviously just disoriented,” said Draco, but Boot was already pointing a shaking finger at him.

“It was you. Wasn’t it?” His voice had become an accusing growl.

Draco forced himself to remain calm and just arched an eyebrow at him. “What?”

“She was tentative to date again.” With each word, Draco could see the other man steadily getting more furious; it was as if he were slowly filling with boiling water, getting redder and redder. “She said her last relationship ended badly. It was _you_.”

“Don’t be insane,” snapped Draco, trying to ignore his heart hammering violently in his chest. He carefully scooped Y/N fully up into his arms and began to walk, fully aware that Boot’s tied hands and confiscated wand kept him from attacking.

Even if they didn’t, Boot wouldn’t dare do so if Draco was carrying her.

Pansy still could have sent that bloody Tripping Jinx.

Draco suspected she was letting him deal with Boot on purpose.

To Draco’s fury but not exactly his surprise, Boot fell into step beside him.

“That’s why you’ve been taking points from me,” continued Boot, seemingly realizing it as the words spilled out, looking positively thunderstruck. “Isn’t it? Because you’re still being a possessive piece of shit, even when it’s over?”

Draco’s eyes darkened. “I suggest you stop talking.”

Boot paid him no mind. He was visibly shaking. “Is Parkinson not enough for you? Do you have to toy with Y/N too, Malfoy? You fucking _a_ _rse_ _hole_! You should have seen her face when she was talking about her last relationship! I bet you used her and tossed her aside, didn’t you?”

Something very much like a snarl came out of Draco’s chest. “Boot, I’m fucking warning you–”

“What did you do to her?!” Boot’s voice was getting close to a shout. “Have you drugged her? Is she Imperiused? Is that why she joined Dumbledore’s Army? To pass along information to _you_?”

Draco’s expression grew positively menacing; he saw Boot’s eyes flicker for a moment. “Oh yes,” Draco said, darkly sarcastic. “Tonight she made a desperate attempt to protect all of you in that office because she’s secretly my puppet spy. You fucking idiot. _How_ are you a Ravenclaw?”

“Give her to me.” Boot’s voice was hard. “She needs to go to the Hospital Wing.”

“I’m not untying you, you dolt. I know that she needs medical care. She will get it.”

Boot clenched his teeth together so hard that Draco heard them grinding. “Hand her over, Malfoy.”

Draco’s chest was heaving; he unconsciously tightened his grip on Y/N and pulled her closer. “I will get her healed. I don’t have time to argue with you or explain, but if she can be healed without Pomfrey, then it’s best she isn’t around others in the Hospital Wing.” Draco’s voice grew bitter. “Even _you_ must have realized her headaches are not normal and are brought on by crowds.”

Boot’s face faltered. For a moment, Draco saw a sliver of doubt and something else flash on his face. “You can heal her,” he repeated slowly. “Are you sure?”

“If I wasn’t, I wouldn’t have said it,” Draco said harshly, giving him a sidelong glare as they walked. “Now go back to Ravenclaw Tower. You heard the Carrows.”

“No. I’m coming with you.”

“You absolutely are _not_ coming with me.”

“I’m not about to just let a Death Eater carry her off. Either I fight you, go down doing it, or I come with you and make sure you actually heal her. Deal with it, Malfoy.”

Draco felt a muscle twitching angrily in his jaw. “You’re an idiot,” he said again.

“And you’re a wanker,” said Boot roughly. “I can’t _believe_ it was you she was talking about.”

Draco pursed his lips in displeasure. “I never said that.”

“Well, it becomes fairly obvious once one realizes it, Malfoy. And–” Boot stopped talking, becoming momentarily dazed again. “Oh. _Oh_.”

“What?” Draco snapped.

“Susan. She had all this information about the Carrows’ office. And that key for the cabinet…she was strangely vague about how she got it. You…” Boot swallowed hard. “That was you, wasn’t it? You helped us. You…” Boot’s jaw had gone slack in shock.

“Got there, have you?” said Draco very snidely.

“You’re on our side.” Boot still looked like he couldn’t quite believe it.

Draco huffed. “Merlin, what is it with everyone and sides? I am _not_ on a side.”

“Malfoy, you were just as much a part of breaking into that office as the rest of us. Breaking into the office was anti-Carrow. Anti _Death_ _Eater_. You are _definitely_ on a side, and it is not the one that is burned into your arm.” Boot shook his head in disbelief. “You’re still a bloody wanker though.”

Draco rolled his eyes so hard it was painful and sneered. “I don’t like you much either. And if you tell anyone about my part in this tonight, Boot, I’ll know, and I’ll kill you. Bones was the only one–” He choked, and had to pause. Susan Bones crumpling to the floor flashed across his mind, and the image was making him feel sick. “–and now it’s just you,” finished Draco, frowning.

“Y/N doesn’t know?”

Draco glanced at him. “No.”

“Why not?”

Draco threw him another sneer. “None of your goddamn business.”

“She would want to know. I think all of us would have.”

“Boot, I’m not going to say it again. If you want to keep your possession of all your appendages, _mind your_ _own_ _fucking business_.” He felt a headache coming on. The stress was too much. He was both desperate and terrified to get to Head Tower. It meant Y/N’s injuries had to be examined. The part he was really dreading was her head. He was rather afraid to see the back of it.

_Almost there, almost there, she’ll be fine, she has to be–_

They were both panting by the time they arrived to the Head Tower. “Oak and cedar,” said Draco to the portrait that led into their Common Room, and he threw another glare at Boot as it opened. “I’m changing it as soon as you leave, so don’t get any ideas about coming here otherwise.”

Boot scoffed. “As if I’d want to, Malfoy.”

Pansy, Draco saw with powerful relief, was already there, perched on the couch and waiting. She must have sent the others back with their hands bound and not walked them herself. They had, after all, no wands either, so there wasn’t much else they could do except go back to their dormitories.

Draco guessed after what just happened that’s all they would want to do.

She stood, lips pursed, and pulled out her wand. “Your bed,” she commanded, throwing Boot a glance and then giving Draco a questioning look.

“He fucking insisted,” muttered Draco sullenly, and Pansy just rolled her eyes, stalking ahead of the two boys up the winding staircase to Draco’s Head Boy dormitory room and rolling up her sleeves as she went. 

Once there, Draco carefully lay Y/N down on the bed and drew his wand.

Pansy had already cast a diagnostic spell to determine the injuries. Draco didn’t understand half of the graphs and images that flashed by in the air but he knew that she did, and he waited not so patiently for her to explain. When she had finished reading them, the image of Y/N’s brain still hovered in the air, glittering like a moving photo in the darkness of the room. Pansy did not vanish it. Instead she turned to Y/N and said briskly to the two men, “I need to look at the back of her head.”

“Untie me,” Boot demanded, and with an irritated sniff, Pansy did so.

“So when you said you could heal her,” said Boot to Draco accusingly, as he and Draco stepped forward to assist Pansy by helping hold Y/N in a sitting position, “You meant that Parkinson could.”

“I didn’t really want to waste time explaining Pansy’s trustworthiness to you,” said Draco, irritated.

“I don’t take you to be the healing type,” said Boot to Pansy suspiciously.

“You’d better be bloody thankful I am,” she said crisply, not even looking at him. Instead, she leaned forward and began moving Y/N’s hair around, lips pursed. “Because this looks very bad.” Draco’s heart clenched with fear and then sped up painfully, but Pansy did not elaborate.

Pansy jabbed her wand toward the door in a wordless spell; a few moments later, a jar of salve came zooming into the room, which she caught deftly. “Hold her up further,” Pansy said brusquely, and the two boys leaned Y/N forward and Pansy began smearing the salve around in her hair. Draco was horrified to see that even more blood than he had been expecting was getting on Pansy’s hand.

“Pans,” he choked.

Calmly, Pansy used her wand to clean her hands and then leaned forward again, quietly murmuring spells with her wand aimed toward the back of Y/N’s head. “Yes, Draco?”

“Is she–is it–”

She was quiet for a moment, and Draco felt a horrible sense of foreboding. “As I said, it’s bad,” said Pansy finally, not looking at him. “If she doesn’t wake up by tomorrow evening, she needs to go to Pomfrey. Or at least we’ll need to consult her. It would be out of my element by that point.”

Draco’s chest proceeded to go numb. “What do you mean if she doesn’t wake up?”

“You shouldn’t have let her pass out,” said Pansy harshly. “She’s in a coma. I think, judging from the diagnostics, that it’s minor. But we won’t know that until she…continues not to wake up.”

The room swirled, and Draco found himself begging. “Pansy, please. You have to wake her up.”

“I can’t do shit to wake her up, Draco, we’ll just have to be patient,” she snapped. “Accio bandages!” She jabbed her wand sharply at Draco’s cabinet and out they sprang, and she proceeded to put them carefully on the back of Y/N’s head, sealing them there with another spell, before she turned with a huff to Y/N’s shoulder. Boot had been surprisingly quiet until this point; he had only gotten very pale and was staring down at Y/N as if she were a ghost.

“Do you think she can hear us?” he asked finally, very hoarsely.

“I don’t know,” said Pansy, waving her wand to _Diffindo_ the sleeve of Y/N’s dress and access the shoulder. “But I doubt it. Even if she could, she wouldn’t make sense of it. She’ll be very disoriented.”

“ _Merlin_ ,” muttered Terry, looking horrified. “What happened? Did either of you see it?”

“We both did,” said Pansy, going slightly paler than before. She was waving her wand carefully over Y/N’s shoulder with a deep frown, and another glittering diagnostic image popped up and floated in the air–the image of the bones in the shoulder. Pansy frowned deeper. “Crabbe fucked it up more when he tried to pop her back,” she sighed. “I have to do it again.”

“Are either of you going to tell me what happened?” Terry demanded furiously.

Pansy pointed her wand, whispered something, and the shoulder cracked loudly. Y/N let out a strangled little sob and Draco flinched, then watched her hopefully.

But she hadn’t woken. Her eyes stayed closed.

“She was fighting with Crabbe,” said Pansy, taking the salve again and starting to slowly apply it to Y/N’s shoulder. “She was on his back, clawing at him. I think she physically jumped him to try and stop him from getting to the Carrow’s office. When we came around the corner he yanked her off, and it dislocated her shoulder. Then he quite literally hurled her against a wall.” Her eyes darkened and her mouth twisted. “God, he’s such a fucking ape.”

Draco was trying very hard not to see the images she was describing all over again.

For a brief moment after she’d hit the wall, he’d thought the worst.

Pansy sighed again, her dark eyes ranging over Y/N. “I need to cut away this dress. See how much bruising there is from slamming into the wall. The way she was moving earlier makes me wonder if she has an injured rib or two.”

Both men froze, eyes widening, staring first at each other and then looking to Pansy.

“Oh, please,” said Pansy, scoffing. “No need to avoid the elephant in the room any longer. I think by now it’s fairly obvious to all of us that you both have seen her in her underthings. Stop being gross about it. It’s medical, and it won’t be long.”

There was a long, awkward pause.

“I–no, I haven’t,” muttered Boot, flushing.

Pansy looked amused and then looked sharply at Draco. There was a nasty glint in her eye as she took in the faint blush that was beginning to stain his cheekbones.

Draco just coughed very uncomfortably.

Pansy cackled and then raised her wand. “ _Diffindo_ ,” she said, and there was a loud ripping sound as the fabric tore and Pansy carefully moved the dress away. Y/N’s ribs were protruding more than Draco remembered, but he supposed that wasn’t surprising. Everyone was losing weight this year from stress. What made him really concerned were the dark bruises dancing across her rib cage.

Upon waving her wand and conjuring another glittering diagnostic, Pansy hummed in affirmation. “Yes, as I thought. Two cracked ribs. Thankfully they aren’t broken and that’s easy enough to fix.” She jabbed her wand, there was another faint cracking sound, and then Pansy began spreading more salve. “Each of you can get some salve and put it on her arms. It’ll help with those scratches.”

They both dipped their fingers in, glaring at each other, before taking one arm and carefully applying it to her skin. 

Draco’s hands twitched; he longed to wrap them around Boot’s throat.

“What is this stuff?” said Boot, wrinkling his nose, presumably at the smell.

“It’s a plant-based salve I made,” answered Pansy brusquely. “It helps with pain, bruising, and open wounds, but it also sinks into the skin and helps a tiny bit with internal damage. It’s a nice thing to work in tandem alongside medical spells.”

Boot just stared at her, rather aghast. Draco too was quite impressed. He had known that Pansy was adept at Healing–had started studying it on her own last year–but he had not known she had already progressed to making her own concoctions or who had taught them to her.

“Now what?” said Draco, when they had spread the salve and cleaned their hands and Pansy was using her wand to wrap bandages around Y/N’s torso and arms.

“Now we wait,” she said. “And Draco, get her a shirt. Biggest one you can find. We’ll cut the sleeves off so it’s just a head hole and we don’t have to rotate her arm to put it on.”

Draco did not want to just wait. He thought that might drive him to madness. He turned on his heel and began rummaging in his dresser; he could have used magic, but he wanted to be busy. When he turned back around, Boot had sat on the edge of the bed, taken one of Y/N’s hands, and began smoothing the hair around her face very carefully, as if she were made of glass.

Pansy caught Draco’s eye again; her mouth twisted at the look on his face. Draco wordlessly held the shirt out to her and let her slip it over Y/N, and for a long moment no one said anything.

“Boot,” Pansy said finally, “I think it’s time you leave.”

He stiffened and turned to glare indignantly at them. “Are you serious?”

“What, you think we’re all having a sleepover?” drawled Draco. “You wanted to make sure the big, scary Death Eater actually planned to get her healed. You got what you wanted. Now leave.”

“She’s not healed! She’s in a fucking coma!”

“ _Get_ _out_.” Draco’s voice was low but vibrating with furious intensity.

Pansy sighed and stepped forward. “Come on, Boot. I’ll walk you. That way if we’re caught I can cover for you as Head Girl.” Boot looked like he wanted to argue further, but he just deflated and stood, throwing them both a very nasty glare.

“If she wakes…” he began.

“Yes, yes,” said Pansy impatiently. “We’ll tell you.” She glanced at Draco. “If she wakes when I’m gone, keep her calm. Ask her basic questions. Assess if her memory or cognitive function has been damaged.”

“Right,” said Draco, a horrible lump growing in his throat.

“You can’t tell anyone about this, Boot,” said Pansy sharply, turning back to the other man. “It risks Draco and I’s safety.”

“I won’t. But how am I supposed to explain where Y/N is?” he demanded.

“Tell them she has a private bed in the Hospital Wing, and Pomfrey said no visitors. I’ll have to talk to Pomfrey tomorrow, but for now that’s all we can do. Think you can manage that?”

Pansy’s glare was so intimidating that Boot just nodded mutely. And then he let out a disgruntled sigh. “Fine. But I’ll be outside in the morning for an update, and you’d better fucking remember to come let me know.” He leaned forward and kissed Y/N on the forehead, lingering long enough for Draco’s hands to twitch again. And then he was standing and following Pansy out of the room.

Draco took a long, deep breath, basking in the the sudden silence and solitude.

Draco took Boot’s spot on the side of the bed and waited for Pansy to return. It felt like ages. He watched Y/N breathe, and he inwardly begged her to wake quickly so he wouldn’t have to be in this state of agonizing limbo, waiting through the night. But there was no change in her. 

Draco was just beginning to get worried about Pansy when she burst into the room and flounced over. “No changes, I presume?” Her voice was like steel.

“No.” Draco didn’t look at her.

There was a very long silence.

“When were you planning on telling me?”

He threw her a contemptuous look. “I could tell that you already knew.”

“Of course I did,” she said rather haughtily, lifting her chin. “I’m not an idiot. But so what? We tell each other things. We use our words. You know, like adults, Draco. It’s a courtesy. Or so I thought.”

He let out an irritated huff of air. “Don’t be a bitch. I’m really not in the mood.”

She sighed, and then stood up. She was peering thoughtfully at the image of Y/N’s brain still hovering in the air. “There’s something–” Pansy paused, frowning, apparently lost in thought. And then she spun back around to Draco. “It’s not like I’ve seen many live brain images like this yet, but I’ve read a lot, and I–something is…different. I don’t understand it.”

Draco went cold, turning his head to look at her so fast that he cricked his neck. “What do you mean?”

“Well…” Pansy seemed to be struggling with a way to explain. “People tend to think of the brain as being in parts, you know? This part does that function, this part does another. But it’s not quite so clean. Multiple parts are at work. But…very broadly speaking, there are areas of her brain that seem much bigger to me than usual. More active, I suppose. And I don’t think it’s from the concussion.”

“Which parts?”

“The ones that deal most intensely with language or imagery input.” She frowned, and looked very frustrated. “Perhaps she’s multilingual? Or has a photographic memory? I do feel like the books would have mentioned those as factors–”

“No,” said Draco hoarsely. “I don’t think that’s it.”

Pansy looked at him in surprise, eyebrows raised. “You think you might know?”

He squirmed, deeply uncomfortable. “Yes.”

She waited expectantly. When he didn’t say anything, she pressed, “ _Well_?”

“I…can’t tell you, Pans.” He moved his eyes to gaze at Y/N’s face.

He heard Pansy scowl irritably. “Fine. I’ll ask her myself. Not that she’ll tell me, I’m sure.” She waved her wand, and the medical diagnostic spells hanging in the air disappeared; the room went almost dark, except for the moonlight coming in through Draco’s window. “I’m going to bed,” Pansy said bitterly. “If she wakes, you need to come get me so I can assess the damage.”

She made to walk off, but his voice halted her. “Pansy.”

“What?” She sounded positively exhausted.

“Thank you. And I’m sorry,” he muttered.

“I know,” said Pansy, gentler now. 

And then she was gone, closing the door behind her.

* * *

A familiar murmur whispered in your ear, pleasantly tickling your skull.

“— _I am half agony, half hope. Tell me not that I am_ —”

As you regained consciousness the words, at first, didn’t make sense. Everything jumbled together into one long word. 

Sounds strung together but scrambled and with no meaning.

Still, something buzzed of familiarity.

“— _even more your own than when you almost broke_ —”

The voice. It was the voice.

“— _Dare not say that man forgets sooner than woman_ —”

Slowly, the words became familiar too.

You’d seen these words on a page before. Many times. And this voice had also read words from the same book.

Your brain desperately reached for connections and formed one.

“— _Unjust I may have been, weak and resentful I have been_ —”

You were surprised at the painfulness accompanying the voice.

Instinctively, you knew not to open your eyes. 

As you were waking, slight pain was creeping into your head too. But it was a physical pain; not the same sort as the pain from hearing the voice. That was the sort that cut into hearts and twisted them past recognition.

Why was it there?

It made no sense.

“— _For you alone, I think and plan_ —”

Because you were quite certain where you were, even with eyes closed.

A small smile began to form.

It was your alcove.

It was your alcove, and it was just one of the many nights you spent here, being pleasantly read to sleep, with…

“ _Have you not seen this? Can you fail to have understood my_ —”

“Draco?”

You were surprised at how hoarse your voice was. It felt strange to be speaking. Like your vocal muscles had been dormant. 

How long had you drifted off?

It must be late.

Would Draco stay?

Sometimes he stayed nights here, but lately he’d been leaving more frequently to attend to this secret task that he never seemed able to tell you about—

There was a thumping sound of a book being rapidly shut.

“Oh _Merlin_ —Y/N?”

You felt careful hands on your face; you would have sighed in contentment at his touch, but something about the urgency of his voice frightened you, though you weren’t at all sure why.

That gut-wrenching emotional pain struck again, too. Harder this time.

Why was everything so hazy?

“Can you hear me?” His normally calm lilt was strained and rough; fingers slid gently across your cheekbones.

“I just drifted off a little,” you replied, wondering why he was acting this way. “What’s wrong? You can keep reading. Or—” You stopped, frowning. “Or do you have to leave again?”

You couldn’t quite keep the disappointment out of your voice, and you didn’t want to open your eyes and see his face expression telling you he was going. 

The throbbing in your head increased.

His hands on your face had gone completely still.

“What?” he whispered hoarsely.

Blearily, you tried to open an eye. “It’s very blurry,” you complained, frowning. You couldn’t see a thing, so you closed it again. “I’ll keep my eyes closed. I have a headache. And I’ll sleep here. Are you—staying?” Stupid, hopeful voice.

Draco’s voice sounded very strange, and his thumbs were still frozen on your cheeks. “Y/N,” he said, “Where do you think that we are right now?” There was no disguising the waver in his tone.

“The alcove,” you said, frowning in bewilderment, and you heard something like a vague choking noise.

“Draco? What—”

The words were cut off by a hug. The scent you associated with Draco was so close now that you were drowning in it; he had leaned down and wrapped his arms around you—with a gentleness you didn’t understand, as if you were somehow fragile—you felt his arms come around your torso and his head was suddenly beside yours so you could bury your face contentedly in the crook of his neck.

You were just about to speak and press for information when you felt that his shoulders were subtly shaking.

With a shock so great you lay frozen for several moments, you realized that he was crying. “Draco?” Now you were getting really anxious, your voice shriller with each word. “Draco, what’s wrong? What’s happened? It is your task? _Please_ tell me so that I can help. I can help.”

You lifted your arms to try and wrap them around him, but yelped and had to withdraw your arms back again.

A searing pain had shot through your right shoulder when you moved it.

You felt his head turn slightly. “No,” he chastised, voice hoarse and miserable. “Don’t move, Y/N. Relax. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have—this isn't—I need to get Pomfrey.”

“Pomfrey?”

There was a long pause.

“I haven’t been in your alcove for ages, Y/N,” said Draco, voice still very thick. You felt him pull away, and his thumbs on your face again. “You’ve been very badly hurt. You’ve hit your head. You’re confused.”

The headache was steadily worsening, causing you to screw up your face in pain. “I don’t understand. Did something—” Your gut dropped. “Something bad happened,” you whispered, knowing it to be true. Feeling it. “What was it? Oh Draco, what was it?! I’m so confused, please, _please_ tell me—something terrible—”

Images flashed behind your eyelids.

People writhing and screaming on the floor from Cruciatus, Draco and Pansy intertwined at a ball, shattering glass, the Carrows, fighting with Crabbe, the crunch of a wall, a flash of green light, a body falling, collapsing—

You were thrashing and gasping and sobbing as the images sped by in your mind, and were unaware of the hands frantically trying to hold you still.

One minute later you had slumped back, unconscious once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: language, a lot of testosterone, medical stuff, injuries and blood and such, some violence, sexual themes, and ummm….ok so humans have always had very strong taboos about desecrating a dead body and lets just say the Carrows go there. this fic was very fucked and adult and will continue to be that way
> 
> The broken bits of quote we heard Draco reading were, as with Loud Places, from Persuasion by Jane Austen.


	15. Fifteen, Part One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter got out of hand with word count and will be split in two.
> 
> Please don't forget to check chapter warnings in the end notes if you feel you may need them for something.
> 
> Hope you enjoy! :)

When you woke, there were something cool being dabbed on your face.

You felt your eyes flutter.

“Y/N?” said Draco’s strangled voice. There were fingers on your cheeks, urgently moving across your skin. “Come back. Please…open your eyes, come back, wake up—”

You very suddenly made to sit up. 

There was a little gasp of surprise, and also of pain. It took you a moment to realize that it had been yours.

Gentle hands eased you back. “Lie down, Y/N.”

“Where am I?” Your voice was a rasping sob.

“You’re in my room. In Head Tower. You’re safe. Open your eyes and look. Carefully now. Open them slowly.” His fingers moved soothingly across your forehead.

There was such a powerful misery in you that you felt it was pressing into your chest and threatening suffocation. Your head was heavy and aching; there was a painful hole in your stomach.

Tears began to burn at your closed eyes as the memories came rushing back again, but you aggressively pushed them away. You didn’t want to think about any of it. You would not cry. If you started, you weren’t sure that you would be able to stop.

“What do you remember?” asked Draco’s voice, both gentle and wary.

“Everything.” It hurt to talk. Your voice was so hoarse. “Halloween. Ball. Crabbe. The Carrows’ office. And—” You stopped, the words dying in your throat. You pushed away the images again. “How long was I out? Are the others…” You felt a raw panic.

“Everyone else is fine,” said Draco quietly. “Boot and I took you here. Abbott, Longbottom, Weasley, and Lovegood are also uninjured. I thought it might be more restful for you not to be in the Hospital Wing. You’ve been out four days.”

“ _Four_?” Your head was swimming. That would make it Tuesday evening.

“Technically three. You woke up once about a day in. Do you remember?”

“No.” You opened your eyes a sliver.

Slowly, you kept going. Everything was blurry, but you could make out the pale, blonde figure sitting on the edge of the bed. Beyond him was a room, but you couldn’t see many details. Just colors. Nor could you see the precise features of his face.

“It’s blurry,” you whispered, voice small and afraid. “I can’t see you properly.”

“Don’t strain,” murmured Draco’s voice. You thought maybe you saw something move in the shape of his blur. His mouth? You focused harder, squinting. “No,” he said, and the blur that was his head moved as he shook it. “ _Don’t_ strain. Don’t squint like that, and don’t think too much right now.” His fingers moved to stroke through your hair, and he sighed. “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

You shifted to gaze up at the ceiling. There was a curious emptiness in you, and it wasn’t the pit in your stomach that indicated that you were starving after days of not eating. The ceiling was still blurry, but it didn’t hurt your head as much to look at it.

You suddenly saw something other than the ceiling—it was Draco’s face. It was close to yours, and it was much clearer than before. His gaze was the usual staggering gray; he seemed to be studying your eyes. “Keep watching my finger,” he told you, and he held up one hand and moved it side to side while you attempted to trail it with your eyes. “Very good,” he murmured, before moving away.

The ceiling was sharper than before. Things were becoming clearer.

“How does your shoulder feel? Your ribs?” you heard him press.

Ah. That was what that slight discomfort was on the right side of your body and on your torso. 

“Fine.” Your voice was dull. Dead. “What happened to me?”

“Your shoulder was dislocated. Two ribs were cracked.” For the first time, he sounded angry. It made you so curious that you peeked at him. It was already much easier to see him than before.

“What is it?”

His mouth pressed into a thin line and his eyes darkened. You realized that you had seen it happen, and that he and other details of the room were still becoming steadily sharper. The light in the room was low; the curtains were drawn. “I am planning on disemboweling Crabbe. Without magic.”

“Crabbe?” Your voice shot up to a much higher pitch, a thrill of fear rippling through you.

Draco’s face twisted. Your head was twinging now too, but you could finally see him properly. Something in your chest loosened. Not being able to see was an extremely vulnerable feeling. “Lie down,” he repeated gently, and he leaned forward and nudged you back again. You hadn’t even realized you’d sat up. “He’s not here. Time passed. You’re safe. I promise.”

You relaxed.

Of course.

“Crabbe threw me at a wall,” you said slowly.

“He did.” Draco’s expression was black with fury.

“You Healed me?”

“That would be me, actually.” A sharp, irritable voice had sounded from the doorway, and you glanced over to see a slightly blurry Pansy Parkinson.

Your heart twisted in your chest in fear. 

And…guilt.

Images flashed behind your eyelids of Draco’s lips on yours, his shirt bunched in your hands, his hips pressing you insistently into the wall; and then Draco and Pansy snogging at the ball—

“Oh god, don’t hurt me,” was what you found yourself saying, shrinking back into the bed. Draco’s bed. You were in Draco’s bed, and Pansy was here. You found yourself trembling.

Pansy laughed cruelly, walking briskly over to the bed. “Don’t be ridiculous.” Her voice was hard as she waved her wand; something glittering appeared in the air. “Her memory?” You realized she was talking to Draco, because he cleared his throat and spoke.

“Seems normal. Her vision and reflexes also appear mostly normal.”

“Good.” Pansy waved her wand again, and you felt something warm trickle slowly up your arms, all the way up through your shoulders. Whatever it was, it felt nice. After examining the glittering images in the air for a moment—which you realized were of your brain and ribs and shoulder—she turned to you, her dark eyes disdainful. “It seems you’ll make a full recovery. I’ll inform Pomfrey. She knows you’re here. She’s saying you are in a private room in the Hospital Wing and she is refusing visitors. She has also written you out of class. Apparently, there is some great secret about your brain—some reason that it is better for you not to be in the Hospital Wing.”

She was staring at you, her gaze hard.

You sensed rather than saw Draco shift beside you in discomfort, and guessed this had been a discussion while you had not been conscious.

Defiantly, you lifted your chin. “That’s right.”

Pansy huffed. “Well, whatever. You’re welcome for saving your life, I guess. Bitch.”

“ _Pansy_.” Draco sounded exasperated.

“Anything else I should know?” you asked dully, pointedly ignoring her inflammatory comment.

Pansy flicked her wand, and the glittering images in the air disappeared. “Yes, actually,” Pansy said lightly, though her smile was malicious. You waited fearfully for whatever was about to come out of her mouth. “Your little Ravenclaw boyfriend is the only one that knows you’re here. I’m sure he’ll be dying to come see you. And we all saw a whole lot of you while healing you. ”

“Merlin,” muttered Draco irritably. “Pansy, control yourself.”

Well, that was that. She may have healed you, she may be willing to help you duel Crabbe, and she may even be assisting rebels, but Pansy Parkinson undoubtedly still hated you.

“She’ll have to get used to worse,” said Pansy, smirking viciously at your clear embarrassment.

You blinked. “Excuse me?”

“Well,” said Pansy, her voice dry and sarcastic, “As your official Healer, I say the next step is to clean you up and get some food in you. Draco can go down to the kitchens and get you some food, and I can help you hobble into the shower and clean you.”

You made no attempt to disguise the horror in your voice. “That is not happening.”

Pansy arched a perfectly shaped eyebrow. “Oh no? What other options do you think you have? Your shoulder and ribs will still take a day or so to go back to normal. Try lifting your arms above your head like you would to wash your hair. Does it work? And do you know where your injuries are on the back of your head? Do you know the spells to make sure that nothing gets infected? Because if you wash them wrong, it could make things even worse.” She laughed as your eyes narrowed at her. “Better yet, come on then, stand up. If you’re so confident you can do it on your own, then why don’t you start with getting to your feet and walking to the bathroom?” Her eyes were glittering with undisguised mockery as she gestured to a door across the room.

For the first time, the empty feeling in you went away; it was replaced with fury.

Still defiant, you began shifting your legs to get out of bed.

“Y/N, don’t,” said Draco sharply. “Pansy, for fuck’s sake, stop goading her.”

“It isn’t my fault she doesn’t want to listen to my medical advice,” said Pansy, shrugging.

“I am not exposing myself to you,” you snapped.

“You don’t really have a choice,” said Pansy. “And do you think that I want to spend my precious time washing your ungrateful arse? Think again, Y/L/N. Now come on.” She held out an arm and gave you a brusque look, clearly expecting you to take it.

Rather helplessly, you looked to Draco. He looked apologetic. “Sorry,” he muttered. “I’ll…go get you some food. You really need to eat.”

It took a lot longer than you thought it would to stand, because your legs were weak and you were feeling a bit dizzy. You had to lean on Pansy far more than you would have liked, just as she had anticipated. Draco waited until you and Pansy had both crossed the room and entered the bathroom before you heard the door click and him leave the room for the kitchens.

Without a word, Pansy began stripping you of your clothes, which just consisted of a huge shirt with a head hole only, essentially making it a gigantic gown. It made it much easier to take off. You stood there in your bra and underwear, shivering.

“I don’t like this,” you said roughly.

She rolled her eyes at you. “Join the fucking club.”

And then she unhooked your bra and yanked your underwear down.

There you stood, fully naked in front of another human, which hadn’t happened since you were a child with your parents. Of course it had to be Pansy fucking Parkinson.

Pansy Parkinson, who was dating Draco Malfoy, who was, so far, the only other person in your life that you would have considered letting see you this way.

The world was cruel.

To her credit, she didn’t do anything to make you more uncomfortable. Her eyes just glinted a little, probably relishing in the fact that you were highly mortified about this entire thing, before she held out her arm to guide you toward the shower and help you step in.

Pansy had brought her wand with her. She murmured a few spells, concentrating heavily, before putting it on a rack on the wall of the shower and taking the nozzle. “The water may sting a little,” she said, not sounding concerned about that in the slightest, and then she turned it on, aiming it at your arms. You hissed in pain as it hit the scratches.

You didn’t even want to think about how it was going to feel when you got your head wet.

Pansy started by carefully cleaning your arms, and then she handed you the soap so you could clean the rest of your torso, since you didn’t have to stretch much to do so. After that you turned around and let her, with great trepidation, put the stream of water over your head.

This time you yelped when the water came into contact with your injuries, but Pansy kept going.

“Just so we’re clear,” she said, “As a Healer, your injuries have come a long way, and that’s good. As myself? I couldn’t give two shits whether or not you get better.”

“Well that’s great,” you said irritably. And then you paused, chewing the inside of your mouth for a moment. “I still am grateful you healed me. And about helping me stop Crabbe that one time. I suppose I owe you double now. So, you know…thank you.”

She laughed. “Save it. I’m going to wash your hair now. Stay turned around. Get to your knees.”

The water halted and you obeyed, and for a long time it was quiet as you knelt there, freezing and wincing, while she carefully massaged shampoo into your hair and cleaned the injuries on your head.

The silence was tense. But finally, she spoke again.

“Well then. Here I am with Draco’s ex from last year.” Pansy’s voice was cold.

You froze.

So here it was. You were going to be having this conversation, then.

While you were naked, injured, and kneeling in the shower as she washed your hair, because you were incapable of doing so yourself.

Yes, the world was very cruel.

You shuddered, though not from the cold. There was no point in trying to deny it. Your throat tightened; you could feel her eyes practically burning a hole right in the back of your head.

“Is that why you hate me?” you asked finally, voice blunt.

“In a way, yes,” she replied. “But not for the reasons you’re probably thinking.” Her hands stopped moving in her hair; you heard her reach for the nozzle and turn it on, rinsing them off.

“Did he tell you, then?”

For some reason this hurt, knowing that he had that sort of conversation with Pansy. Discussing his exes with his new lover. He had never spoken about such topics with you, and even after all the time you spent with him last year, he had never shared anything about his romantic history.

Then again, you supposed that you had never really asked.

“Yes,” she said. “But not because he wanted to. And even then he still wouldn’t tell me who.” The bitterness in her voice was undisguised, and she turned the water on your head to rinse it off without warning. You clenched your fists at the pain, but bit your lip to keep from crying out.

“I have some advice for you.” Her voice was very hard and even colder—like ice. “And I really suggest that you take it.”

“What?” you asked, very warily.

“After you’re healed and out of this fucking room, stay away from Draco.”

Even though you had been more or less planning to do the same thing yourself, you bristled at the idea of being ordered off. “Why?“

She didn’t answer for a long time. Her fingers were methodically moving through your hair as she rinsed. And then the water turned off. “On your feet.”

Her arms came out so you could use them as leverage to shakily stand, and Pansy stepped out to get two towels and came forward to begin drying your hair as you slowly and carefully did the parts of your torso that you could reach. “I don’t owe you an explanation,” she said finally, her voice like steel. “I’m just telling you _don’t meddle._ I know this all must be very fun for you. The handsome bad boy, probably fancy it your little walk on the wild side—”

Your jaw dropped. "Are you _serious_? How dare you?” If you had the energy and no injuries, you would have considered hitting her.

But Pansy just ignored this and talked over you, harsh as ever.

“We’re Pureblood, and you are not. It is not a flexible culture, especially now. We will marry after this school year. You have no real future with him. He always knew this. _Stay_ _away_. He’s having a very hard time this year, and I won’t have you fucking it up even further.”

For a long time, all you could do was stare at her. There were too many emotions to pinpoint them all. Rage, indignation, sadness, pain, confusion. Those were the most prominent.

Married. In less than a year.

Pansy just sneered viciously. “I’ll get you another shirt. Wait here and try not to hit your head again. Or do. I don’t care.“

When she returned, you just glared at her before you turned so she could pull underwear up your legs and another shirt-gown over your head, not bothering with the uncomfortable bra for evening dresses that you had been wearing since Halloween.

The shirt smelled like Draco.

“Out we go, then.” She held out her arm to gesture to the door, unsmiling.

Draco was sitting on the edge of the bed waiting, but he immediately got to his feet when he saw the two of you exit, eyes moving over you both very carefully.

The smell of food—laid out meticulously at the foot of the bed—was so powerful that you went dizzy. The scents and colors had your mouth watering already.

"You can do the honors,” said Pansy, tossing a comb at Draco and guiding you over to lean on his arm instead. “I have better things to do. Don’t forget the instructions from Pomfrey.”

And with that she stalked out, closing the door roughly behind her.

“What were the instructions from Pomfrey?” Your eyes were still locked on the food, and he began helping you walk over. After you sat in bed he pulled the covers up, took a plate, and put a small bit of everything on it before handing it to you. Eagerly, you dove in.

“Bed rest until Saturday,” said Draco. “Nothing strenuous on the brain for a week. No reading or writing or too much thinking, she said.”

You paused, staring at him with a mixture of disgust and disbelief. “Sounds doable,” you said sarcastically. “What am I even supposed to do?”

His mouth twitched. “Talk to me,” he suggested. “I can also read to you.”

“And when you’re in classes all day I’ll stare at the ceiling,” you mused. “Great.”

“I am skipping all of my classes except the ones I have with the Carrows.” He paused. “I just think their detentions would be worse than lines.”

“What?” Your eyes widened. “I didn’t mean—you can’t skip everything.”

“Too late,” he said lightly. “Already started.”

“But—”

“I’m not leaving, Y/N.” His tone became flat, but his eyes were blazing.

Something tightened in your chest. “I am very angry at you,” you said, looking back to your plate and deciding to spread butter on a roll so that you wouldn’t have to see his reaction.

“Oh?” He didn’t sound surprised.

“You know why.” You threw him a bitter look. His face was carefully neutral. “You should have directly told me about Pansy. I asked twice. I would never have snogged you. I don’t like being the other woman. As it was, you were vague and I never knew exactly—I didn’t know if—”

You stopped, a sudden image of Pansy and Draco getting married in your head.

And from there the image of the Carrow’s office appeared.

And then a green light, and—

Quickly, you derailed those thoughts. _Don’t think about it,_ you chanted _. Don’t remember. Don’t._

Now Draco was frowning slightly. “Y/N, if it makes you feel better, even if Pansy knew about our recent—misstep—” A faint blush stained his cheeks. “She wouldn’t be upset about it.”

You scowled. “You’re just saying that.”

He sighed. “I’m not. Ask her yourself.”

“And get my head ripped off?” You scoffed. “No thanks. She hates me.”

“Suit yourself. Then after your head recovers ask me again. Use Legilimency. You’ll see that I’m not lying.” He looked deadly serious; for a long moment, you just looked at him.

“I don’t understand,” you said slowly. “You’re in an open relationship, or something?”

He pursed his lips and looked up determinedly at the ceiling, quiet for a long moment. “It’s understandable you are concerned about how our actions affected Pansy. But beyond that, I’ll repeat what I told you earlier this year. I don’t need to go into every detail about the nature of my relationship with her, and I don’t really want to.” He looked down at you—his eyes were guarded.

You struggled to keep your face neutral.

Then you held out your plate. “Could I have more please?”

“No.”

You shot him such a furious glare that his mouth twitched in amusement again. “May I remind you that I haven’t eaten in days, Draco? I’m starving!”

“Exactly,” he said calmly. “If you eat too much too fast after all that time you’ll make yourself sick. In twenty minutes, I will make you another plate.”

“Arsehole,” you muttered, leaning back.

“Why don’t you tell me about Boot.” There was a hard edge to his voice.

You narrowed your eyes. “No.”

“Why not? You asked me about Pansy. You and Boot seem very _cozy_ —” he sneered the last word “—and it’s only fair that you tell me whether or not I am the _other man_ in this scenario.” He looked as if he had eaten something very sour.

You lowered your eyes, carefully avoiding his gaze and fidgeting with the blankets. “You aren’t.”

“And yet you are kissing us both. The exact same thing you are angry at me for.” When you glanced up, eyes wide as the truth of his words set in, you saw that his lip was curled and his eyes hard.

“That was just the one time,” you said quickly. “A mistake. We’re just friends.”

He arched a disbelieving eyebrow, but then let out a puff of air and seemed to let that particular matter drop. “Speaking of Boot,” said Draco, his expression disdainful, “I saw him on my way to the kitchens. He knows you are awake, so he’ll probably be waiting outside by now. Are you feeling up to seeing him or should I send him away?”

“I’ll see him,” you said. “That’s fine.”

He pursed his lips again and nodded curtly before standing and sweeping across the room, disappearing through the door.

He was back in less than a minute with Terry, who appeared rather breathless.

His wide eyes grew even bigger when he saw you awake and sitting up.

“Y/N! _Merlin_!”

Terry rushed over to sit on the side of your bed; Draco stayed in the door frame, leaning against it and watching with eyes glinting.

“How do you feel?” Terry breathed.

You gave him a weak smile. “Fine. Right now I’m mostly just hungry.”

“Here.” Terry reached for your plate and was about to start piling food on it when Draco’s drawl cut through the room, with a sharp edge to it.

“Give it at least another ten minutes, Boot. She just finished a plate, and she shouldn’t eat too fast after so long on an empty stomach. Her body might reject the food.”

Terry shot Draco a glare but seemed to recognize the logic in his words; he set the plate down, throwing you an apologetic look before his eyes slid to Draco again. “Do you mind, Malfoy?”

Draco scoffed irritably. “This _is_ my room.” But he turned on his heel and left, closing the door behind him.

It was silent for a moment as you both listened to his steps fading away down the stairs.

“How are the others?” you asked.

He covered your hand with his. “They’re…okay. Doing as well as expected after—everything.”

“Right,” you said. You felt your face and eyes go dead again.

Compartmentalizing. Not remembering.

“Y/N,” said Terry, squeezing your hand. “Do you want to talk about—”

“Not even a little bit,” you said, sharper than you had intended, and then looked away, down to the bed covers. “Sorry,” you muttered. “Just—not now.”

“Sure,” he said carefully. “So…”

He was gazing at you with a curious look on his face. Like he was concentrating and confused and nervous all at the same time.

“What is it?”

“Nothing,” he said quickly. “Just. Wondering about you and Malfoy.”

You felt your cheeks heat. “What? I—”

“I had a bit of a chat with him while bringing you up here,” said Boot, forcing a smile. “And when I say chat, I mean a whole lot of arguing and him trying to get me to bugger off.”

“How did this even happen?” You were desperate to fill in the missing details. The night was fuzzy after Susan…you didn’t think the words. The fact that you kept avoiding thinking about it too directly certainly didn’t help your memory. “I remember running from the Carrow’s office, I think.”

“Yes,” Terry said, nodding. “Malfoy went after you and I came after. When you passed out he started carrying you here. I went with him. I wanted you healed, I was trying to get him to go to the Hospital Wing, but he refused. Said it would make your headaches worse.”

“He’s not wrong,” you mumbled.

“Well,” said Terry, “Between your comment about a relationship last year, how well he seemed to know you, and his general sense of dislike for me, I put two and two together.”

“It’s been over for a long time,” you said quietly, looking away.

“Funny,” said Terry, in a voice suggesting he didn’t think it was funny at all, “With the way you two act, I wouldn’t have thought so.”

You peeked at him tentatively. His lips were in a thin line. “Apart from him snogging Parkinson, of course.” And then he sighed and squeezed your hands. “Just—don’t let him toy with you, Y/N. It just seems like him to do something like that.”

The conflicting advice would almost have been funny, had you not been so miserable.

Pansy telling you not to meddle, as if you were upsetting Draco.

Terry telling you not to be strung along.

At the moment, you just felt numb and empty and didn’t want to think about any of it. “I don’t want to talk about this any more,” you muttered.

Terry’s thumb moved across your hand; it was then that you realized that you hadn’t heard his thoughts once during this entire conversation, even as he touched you.

“Still hungry?” said Terry, again forcing a smile and gesturing to the plate. He began stacking food on and handing it to you before the subject changed to your recovery, and then classes, and after about half an hour and him loading you a third plate of food he was getting ready to leave. “I’ll visit every day,” Terry promised. “Multiple times, if you want.”

“I’d like that.” You gave him another tired smile.

He kissed your forehead. “See you tomorrow, Y/N.”

Terry was only gone for about two minutes before Draco reappeared, his eyes scanning you carefully. He didn’t say anything for a long moment—just settled on the edge of the bed again.

“Are you tired?” he asked.

“Yes, actually.”

Draco gave you a small smile. “I can comb your hair while you eat more,” he suggested. “And then I can read you to sleep, if you’d like me to.”

“Okay,” you said tentatively.

He hesitated. “I was planning on staying here through the night,” he said, gesturing to the chair. “I'd—prefer not to leave you, but I can sleep on the couch downstairs if you’d rather I go.”

“Draco, I’m not kicking you out of your bed,” you protested. “It’s gigantic. I’m sure we can manage.” You paused, suddenly anxious. “I mean—if that’s crossing a line for you—”

“Don’t worry about me,” he said firmly.

And then he held out his hands to help you sit up properly and scoot forward so he could settle in behind you to brush your hair. It was quiet for a while as you slowly ate—you were finally beginning to feel full—and as he combed. His fingers were light and careful on your head, avoiding injuries, and he brushed more gently than anyone you’d ever known.

It was automatic, how you curled back against him a little.

“You don’t remember the first time you woke up even a little bit?” he asked finally. There was something about his voice that made you shift.

“No. Why? Did something happen?”

You felt his hesitation. The air was practically crackling with it.

“You were lucid,” he said. “Not awake for long. But—but with details wrong. When I told Pomfrey, she said your brain was protecting itself. Putting you somewhere safer. But I—” His voice wavered a little. “I think I probably fucked it up.” You heard him put the comb down, and he sighed shakily. “And then you were gone for three days.”

Your fingers had frozen, your utensils hovering on the plate. “Why do you think you fucked it up?”

“I told you too much. Everything came back too fast. Pomfrey said I should have just kept you in the safe head space until she or Pansy could examine you. You were having a bit of a fit after you found out you weren’t where you thought you were, and then you slumped back again—” He stopped, his voice getting caught in his throat. “I’m so sorry.”

“Where did my brain put me?” you asked, though you were fairly certain that you already knew, judging by the halted way he had spoken.

“Last year,” he said softly. “I was reading to you when you woke, so—so you thought we were in your alcove again.” He suddenly sounded very distressed. “I told you I hadn’t been there in ages. That you were confused. I shouldn’t have done that. The entire three days I’ve been here wondering what I’d do if it turned out I’d really harmed your brain—or—or if you never woke up—”

His hands had fallen down to his sides, but you felt them doing little spasms, and his chest moving as he breathed unevenly. You reached back and took hold of his forearms and held on tightly, scooting back closer.

It was better not to speak now. Until he was calm. 

So you just quietly traced your fingers up and down his forearms soothingly until he had stopped vibrating.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered. He sounded almost furious. “I’m sorry. For everything. I’m so sorry.“

"It’s okay,” you whispered. “Things are messy sometimes but—but I know you’re looking out for me still. I do know it. And I hope you know I’m doing the same for you.”

He let out a shaky laugh. “I seem to remember you promising me you’d be careful. You really broke that promise quite spectacularly, didn’t you? If you weren’t bedridden, I’d lecture you more.”

You nudged him lightly with your elbow. “It wasn’t my fault Crabbe was there.”

“You tried to fight him off _physically_.”

“My Occulumency wasn’t working. My magic—” You felt your cheeks get warm. “I was having problems again. I wasn’t trying to win. Just hold him off.”

“That,” said Draco very dryly, “is exactly my point, Y/N.”

“I couldn’t just do nothing,” you pointed out.

Though you were certain he probably wanted to argue, he seemed to restrain himself.

“Do you need anything else for bed? I would go shower.”

“Don’t think so,” you said, and you felt him shift away, and then he was at your side, his silver eyes intent and close to yours, helping you lie back more comfortably on the pillows. He smoothed a hand over your forehead, his forehead slightly creased but his eyes soft.

“Shout if you need me,” he said seriously. “I’ll hurry.”

“Take your time,” you told him, yawning. “I’m fine.”

Draco gave you one last small smile before leaving, turning off the lights as he did so; you relaxed a little. Being around him still made your heart rate skyrocket and your muscles tense more than they should. You sighed, snuggling into your pillows.

You were asleep before he returned.

* * *

You woke lying on your side, Draco’s hand draped over you.

Immediately, there was fire in your veins.

You edged back against him, wiggling your hips.

His response—a low, stuttered groan—told you that he was awake. His fingers splayed across your hipbone tightened. “ _Merlin_ ,” he mumbled. “Do you have any idea what you do to me?”

Carefully, you turned over to face him. Even in the darkness, you could tell that the gray in his eyes had almost vanished, to be replaced by black. His eyes were hooded. Intense.

“Show me,” you whispered, wrapping your arms around his neck, and he made that same possessive sort of growling noise in his chest like he had on Halloween before he brought his mouth to yours. You gasped a little against his lips, fingers tightening on his neck.

“I’ll take care of you,” he murmured, his voice low and silky, pressing his lips into a sensitive spot on your neck just below the ear. “Fuck, you’re so beautiful. Let me take care of you.”

“I—I—”

You were incoherent. Words couldn’t form. He was so warm against you. He was practically burning. All you could do was clutch at his shirt and pull, drawing him as near as possible.

His mouth came back to yours, his tongue gliding along your lips and then tangling leisurely with your own, his kisses gentle and yet with an edge of neediness to them. You moaned into his mouth when his hand came to knead your right breast over your shirt, and you bucked your hips automatically up, trying to bring your body in closer contact to his. “ _Please_.”

His hand moved to your top button and undid it. "Trust me to take care of you.” Draco’s voice was a low, seductive hum; your reaction to it was immediate as you arched your back again, trying to press yourself against him where the heat was pooling between your thighs.

“Don’t tease.” You wanted to lecture, but it sounded like another beg. You were almost too far gone to care; soon you’d very happily beg just to get him to touch you. You desperately clenched your thighs together in order to try and relieve some of the tension.

He chuckled as he kissed his way across your neck, moving his way to the second button. Slowly undoing it. He was taking so long. It was agony.

“Patience, love.” He undid the third button. Each time he moved a button out of the way he placed his mouth there instead. And each time he did it you let out a choked sound that was half encouragement and half indignation. “I’m going to take off these clothes and admire you. I want to put my mouth on every inch of your skin.” His voice had become deeper—a growl.

You shivered and had to contain a whimper, nails digging in where you clutched at his shoulders.

“You’re going to be so wet. So ready,” he promised, and this time you did whimper before he cut it off with his mouth. After, he murmured against your lips, so close you could feel the shape of every word, “And then I’m going to fuck you into this mattress.”

_Holy shit_ —

You jolted awake with a gasp, heart thudding loudly against your rib cage.

A cold sweat had broken out on your forehead, across your chest, and all down your arms, but between your legs was burning. And uncomfortably wet.

You glanced beside you, terrified that Draco was awake. God, what if you had been talking out loud or—or making clearly not innocent noises or—

But no. He was fast asleep.

Your head was pounding. Your heart still was too. With a quiet sigh, you lay back and stared pensively at the ceiling, trying very hard to ignore the desire that the dream had conjured.

What the _fuck_?

A sex dream? Why _now_? Why tonight, why in his bed?

If your brain was a person you would have strangled it.

It wasn’t like you hadn’t considered this scenario during waking hours. This year you had still considered putting your hands all over him and vice versa far more often than you would ever care to admit. But still—you wished your body would get the memo that he was very off limits.

_Is he though?_ said a very devilish voice in your head. _He said Pansy doesn’t care about us snogging,_ _and she doesn’t seem to care that I’m staying with him enough to put a stop to it,_ _so it seems like they_ _do_ _have some sort of agreement…_

_No_. You shook your head, trying to clear it. You were not going to let yourself be some sort of side fling just because you wanted to get off. Or, more specifically, because you wanted him to be the one to do it. You needed more than physical connection. You didn’t want to share him with Pansy, regardless of the nature of and rules in their relationship. 

Logically, you knew that.

All you had to do was not let your attraction get the better of you.

You pushed your mind as far as you could out of the gutter and tried to think of something else.

Unfortunately, the other alternatives your brain immediately flooded you with were the events from Halloween.

Green light.

A thud of a body to the floor.

The eerie quiet that had become the inside of Susan’s head—

_No. Don’t think about that either._

_Push it off, don’t think about it._

You counted to two hundred. You did advanced Arithmancy problems in your head. You aggressively thought of anything else because you didn’t want to cry. You couldn’t cry.

Draco stirred beside you.

You glanced over tentatively, but he was still sleeping—he had only shifted a little.

He was facing you, and you couldn’t help but notice that his face, though more peaceful in sleep than when he was awake, was not entirely free of stress. There was a small crease still on his forehead; the very faintest of frowns.

Affection squeezed your heart until it was painful. Slowly, unable to help yourself, you reached out with your left arm—your uninjured arm—to run a soothing hand across the crease.

When this didn’t wake him, you sighed and mumbled, “I still love you.”

You continued moving your hand across his forehead for a few moments. Gently moved your hand down to his cheekbone and stroked it.

Ten more seconds passed.

Suddenly, his eyes flew open.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: high word count but little plot; it’s a bottle episode y’all. language, nudity, Pansy being very Pansy, the usual angst themes, talk of injuries and violence and torture and the usual shit, MC is clearly traumatized, and also (!!!)….we slide into (get it….hehe) a bit of smutty territory this chapter. lol. so ya know. rated E for explicit, strong sexual adult content ahead, etc


	16. Fifteen, Part Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: language, slight violence, mentions of injuries and torture and death, MC (very unhealthily) dealing with grief, strong sexual themes, danger of heart explosion? idk mine did a little, okay i think that’s all

You were just able to get a brief glimpse of the gray depths of Draco’s eyes—enough time to see that they here hazy and clouded—before he let out a strangled yell and his hand shot out.

It clutched so tightly to your wrist that you let out a little gasp of surprise.

Before you knew it he was twisting your arm until he had hold of both wrists. With a truly terrifying snarling sound, he flipped you over to pin you beneath him, arms locked over your head and his wand suddenly at your throat. 

You let out a cry of pain as he twisted your healing shoulder in a way it definitely shouldn’t have moved, and tears sprang up in your eyes.

It’s me!“ you half sobbed, half squeaked. 

The wand point pressed into your neck was painful too, and any moment you feared he would send sparks flying out of his wand.

Where had he even kept his wand? He had drawn it so fast.

Did he sleep with it on him?

The fanatical, cloudy light in his eyes began to fade and confusion entered them instead. "It’s just me, Draco,” you continued, voice shaking. “Y/N.”

The confusion in his eyes melted to horror; his wand clattered immediately to the side and he released his grip on your arms, rolling off to the side but still hovering close to your face, his gaze now frantic. “Y/N,” he choked. “Oh no, I wasn't—have I hurt you?”

“I’m okay,” you whispered. A lie.

Your shoulder was throbbing, and you slowly tried to ease back down to a normal position without wincing. It didn’t work—you also couldn’t contain a hiss of pain as you rotated the joint.

“Of course I have,” he fretted, sitting up and peering at your shoulder, eyes shining in agitation. “I rolled your shoulder—here, let me…” He began shifting to examine your shoulder more closely, though you weren’t sure what he was expecting to see through your night shirt.

“I—I think I maybe just need some Pain Potion, really,” you insisted.

He gave you a severe look. “Your face is all pinched,” he said roughly. “I have hurt you badly and you’re not telling me, and after the potion I have to look at your shoulder.” He rolled off the bed and stood, striding purposefully over to one of his cabinets and rummaging around. You heard clinking of glass before he came back to sit on the edge of your side of the bed, handing you the vial.

After you had drank it, he said, “Now let me take a look…”

“It’s not necessary,” you said.

“It is,” he said fiercely, and all of the sudden his eyes were bright in the semi-darkness of the bedroom. “Pansy told me that if you move strangely in the night on it I have to check and make sure the bones are still in order. And put more salve on.” He eyed you for a moment thoughtfully. “Yes, I see. Pansy put a shirt on again that doesn’t have sleeves. I just have to roll it up.”

Heat rose into your face. “You—you probably shouldn’t,” you sputtered.

He sighed. “I realize this is not exactly optimal, but I’ve seen you like this before, Y/N, so—”

You rose your eyes to the ceiling, cheeks getting even hotter. “I’m not—I don't—have a bra on, Draco.”

For as long as you had been involved, you were realizing just how physically innocent your relationship with him last year had been. Unwittingly, Dream Draco was in your head again, unbuttoning your shirt and putting his mouth on your skin. You shoved it away with only partial success.

You chanced a glance at him to see that he looked momentarily as if he had suffered a concussion too. After a pause, he said briskly, “You can cover with the blankets. With your left arm. And just leave your shoulder uncovered. The other option is waking Pansy.”

Pansy Parkinson did not seem the kind of person who would be thrilled to be woken up in the middle of the night, much less by the injured woman that she despised and that was sleeping in her boyfriend’s bed. You shook your head, eyes wide with horror.

"Oh god,” you said. “Please no.”

He looked a little amused. “She _did_ heal you. If you’re worried about murder—”

“No way,” you said sharply.

“I’m turning away, then,” said Draco, nodding. “I won’t look. Just tell me when you’re ready.” And then he spun, facing the opposite direction.

“Okay,” you told him after a few moments, when just your bare right arm and shoulder were peeking out from the covers and the gown was bunched around your neck.

He was quiet as he spread the salve on, though you noticed a slight shake in his hands.

"Fuck,” he breathed suddenly, squeezing his eyes shut a moment and pausing. “I'm—so sorry.” He looked very agonized when he opened his eyes again and stared at you. And then his expression became tight and furious. “You’re not supposed to do anything strenuous, and I attack you.”

“It was my fault,” you rushed to say, even though you felt you might die of mortification at admitting this. “I was…touching your face and I—I think it startled you and woke you up.” Your heart was beating rapidly, and it only got worse when a questioning look appeared on his face.

“You just looked so stressed, even asleep!” you stuttered quickly, feeling your face flame up. “I was just trying to…to relax you, I suppose…”

His eyes softened, and he closed the salve and set it on the table, waving his wand over his hand to clean it before tentatively resting it on yours.

“It wasn’t your fault,” he said. “Back home my room just isn’t exactly the safest…sometimes other Death Eaters like to duel for fun and—when I’m sleeping—” He paused, something dark and horrible in his eyes, before he closed them tightly again. “It doesn’t matter,” he muttered, brow creased. “I just have to—to be on my guard. I’m sorry it affected you like this.”

You felt positively sick. "Please don’t go home over Christmas, Draco,” you pleaded, struggling to sit up, clutching the covers tighter, and turning to face him more fully. “ _Please_.”

His eyes opened again, his gaze moving up to find yours. “I have to, Y/N.”

“Why?” You felt close to hysterics.

“They’ll hurt my mother.”

You opened your mouth, but nothing came out. He was looking at the ceiling, his expression very tired and resigned, but then he looked down at you again, clearly desperate to change the subject. “Why were you awake?” he asked softly.

Your face got even hotter and you desperately avoided his eyes.

Now that the initial fear was gone, the desire the dream had brought forth was returning more forcefully. “Um. A—a dream woke me up.”

“Do you have bad dreams?” He reached out to touch your face but you shrank almost violently away, not trusting yourself with too much physical contact.

“Sometimes,” you mumbled, not looking at him and and feeling very jittery.

“Y/N.”

You did not want to look up. You knew that tone, and it usually meant that his eyes would be very intense. 

And indeed, when you nervously glanced up, you saw that you were correct, that you could see them blazing in the darkness. But you also saw anxiety etched onto his face.

“I hope you know,” he began, and then stopped, swallowing hard. His voice was quieter when he spoke again. “I would never try to hurt you. I’m so sorry. If you’re uncomfortable I can leave.” He was watching you with a mixture of caution and concern.

_Oh. He thinks I’m afraid._

“No,” you said quickly. “I mean I—I know that. I trust you. You already know I feel safe with you. Just—um—still feeling a bit strange from the dream. That’s all.”

“What was it about?”

_Well, you told me you’d fuck me into your mattress._

You squirmed, feeling panicked and voice getting shriller. “I—I don’t want—”

“You don’t have to talk about it,” he reassured you. “But if you ever wanted to talk to me about…about anything…” He sounded hesitant. Slightly awkward. You knew what he was referring to now, and pushed it away again. “Well,” he said carefully, “We have a whole lot of time now, don’t we?”

“I know,” you said, nodding. “Thanks. Could I maybe just have some Dreamless Sleep Potion? Do you have some of that?”

“Yes,” he said, turning around again to let you adjust the shirt over yourself once more before rummaging through his vials and bringing you one. After you drank it, he was slowly making his way to the other side of the bed, though throwing you tentative looks every now and then as if he expected you to send him away at any moment.

He slid in, a careful distance away.

His breathing didn’t change, so you knew that he, like you, was lying awake for a long time.

You were quite sure he still was when your potion finally kicked in and you drifted off.

* * *

Wednesday and Thursday fell into a comfortable, predictable pattern.

You would wake first, tangled in Draco’s arms and pressed against his body.

Sometime in the night, you would both drift together. It wasn’t necessarily that you _minded_. But it flustered you. It was as if your brain, determined to force away the recent negative events that had happened, decided to fixate on primitive, basic desires instead.

So you would, with no small amount of self-control, always untangle yourself and carefully slip away before he woke.

Pansy came soon after and helped you shower, which was always a special kind of horror in your morning routine, even though after the first time she seemed determined not to talk to you at all. While she was doing this Draco always fetched you breakfast, and after Pansy left you ate and he combed your hair before eating with you. 

After, he would read to you for a while. Or write essays that you dictated to him so you wouldn’t be too far behind on schoolwork when you returned to classes.

Terry usually visited around lunch, giving you updates about the others or schoolwork, but carefully avoiding the topic he knew you didn’t want to discuss.

He visited in the evening, too. Each time he came Draco walked him in, eyes darting between you for a long moment before he left again, lips always pressed into a thin line.

Terry almost always held your hand in the evenings while he talked to you.

You had yet to hear his mind.

You hadn’t heard Pansy’s either, during the torture that was her daily washing sessions. You began getting your hopes up that the concussion had done one good thing for you, after all.

Had it broken your abnormal Legilimency? Had it made you normal?

Most of your time, of course, was spent with Draco.

It was… nice. A little painful, sometimes, but less than you’d been expecting.

You couldn’t stop wanting him. Sometimes you almost wanted to tell him. Other times you felt you’d rather die than say it out loud in a situation where he could actually hear you.

Either way, a lot of the time felt like last year again. It was easy to forget that it wasn’t, sometimes, when he read to you and you laughed together or when he hovered close to you as you walked around the room while regaining your strength. It was easy to forget that your instinct to hug him or kiss him automatically wasn’t appropriate anymore, and sometimes you had the feeling he had the same problem, because he would reach out to touch your face and his hand would snap back, or he would get a look on his face that made your mouth dry before he blinked and looked away.

There were always sharp reminders that things were different. 

The harsh jerk back to reality.

But overall, things felt—better.

After the initial awkwardness of being around him so much after too many charged interactions this year, things did feel more comfortable. More normal. By Friday, you found that the pleasure of being in his company was far outweighing the pain.

Friday was to be your last day here, in his room. Your shoulder and ribs were healed, and your head was well enough that you could be up and about, though it was still advised that you take it easy for the next few days and not engage in any reading or writing.

Friday started off even better than usual, because it was the first day you didn’t have to have Pansy wash you and you could actually do it yourself. Not seeing Pansy was a great start to your day, and your head was also feeling much better. Your mood was excessively cheery until the early afternoon, when Draco reminded you that he had to leave for Defense Against the Dark Arts.

“Oh,” you said, heart plummeting. “Will you be—okay?”

“Yes,” he said, looking at you in a way that made you feel very warm. “Will you be okay here?”

“Of course I will,” you said stoutly.

The whole time he was gone, however, you fretted. The longer he was gone, the worse it got. What if they were being tortured? What if he had to stay after class for some reason and they—

_A flash of green light—_

_A thump of a body falling to the floor—_

Two hours later you were pacing the room and trying to control your feeling of sheer panic, unable to sit still another moment, when the door opened. Your gaze shot up to see Draco walking in. He looked distinctly paler than usual, but otherwise normal, and you were unable to contain your relief. Without thinking, you rushed forward and flung yourself on him.

“Oh,” he said, catching you automatically and sounding vaguely surprised and a little pleased. His arms tightened a little. “Is everything all right? Should I get Pomfrey or Pansy?”

“No,” you said, wondering why you had the stupidest urge to cry. “Just glad that you’re—I started to get worried about—it’s stupid, really, but after—after—” You were shaking uncontrollably.

Oh no.

The memories of Halloween weren’t going away as effectively as they usually were when you shoved them off. 

They hovered there, rising your panic and clogging your throat. You squeezed your eyes shut and pressed your face further into his chest, hoping that would drive them away.

“It was just fine,” he said. His voice sounded very cautious and you felt him hug you even tighter. “We’re doing Imperius Curse now. Quite tame.”

“Right,” you whispered. “Yes, that’s—that’s good.” You were still trembling like mad.

“Y/N,” said Draco carefully. “Do you want to talk about something?”

_No. No. I don’t want to talk about her. I don’t want to see it. I don’t want to know it, I don’t—_

“I haven’t been hearing people anymore,” you blurted out, for something to say. Anything. Something distracting. “Not just you, but also Terry and Pansy. Even when they touch me. Do you think—do you think maybe it’s possible the concussion made the mind reading go away?”

Draco was quiet for a long time. “In your brain, Pansy still saw—differences—that are linked to your abilities,” he finally said, careful as ever. “But maybe it’s possible that it’s been dulled. Or perhaps it’s temporary. I don’t know. You should certainly ask Pomfrey.” He moved a soothing hand over your back. “But you don’t like hearing people. Why would that make you so upset?”

“I’m not upset,” you said stubbornly, but your voice was wavering so much and so shrill that it wasn’t at all convincing. You kept rambling, flinching away from the images in your head. “Just—just wondered what you thought. I haven’t heard anyone, even with physical contact. The last person I heard was Su—”

You stopped with a choked little gasp. The name felt like ashes in your mouth.

The silence in her head had been so final. So terrifying. Like an abyss.

“Y/N,” he said cautiously, and very gently, but you pressed on.

“Obviously I’d be thrilled if I didn’t hear people anymore, so I’m—I’m—”

“Y/N,” he said again, even softer this time, and then he was picking you up, tucking your head under his chin, and carrying you across the room before you could even really register what was happening. It was when he had made it to the edge of the bed and sat on it, settling you on his lap and his hands moving circles on your back, that you finally realized that you were crying.

You had done so well. 

Now you were in near hysterics, your body shaking with the sobs.

“I knew I shouldn’t have let you avoid it so long,” he muttered, mostly to himself, before he sighed and tucked you closer. He was vaguely rocking you back and forth and he was so warm. Smelled so nice. “I’m sorry,” he said, over and over and over. “Y/N, I’m so, so sorry.”

You weren’t sure how long you stayed like this. He held you for what felt like ages until the sobs died down, and when they had you felt empty again.

After you had finally quieted down and you felt hoarse and scratchy and your face felt puffy and painful he leaned back and brought both his hands up to your face; moved them carefully across your cheekbones to wipe away your tears, frowning a little in concentration. And then he kept both his hands right there on your jaw, gazing at you, your face tilted up to look at his.

The door to his bedroom banged open.

“Drac… _oh_.” You both whipped your heads over to see a little girl in Slytherin robes staring at you.

And then her face broke into a grin as you slid off Draco’s lap and he released you and stood up, taking a few steps back. “Were you just going to _kiss_ her?” she asked, in a hushed shout.

“No,” said Draco curtly. “What are you doing here, pest?”

Rather than look offended at the nickname, the little girl looked triumphant. “I’m here for our tutoring. The Head Girl told me to come here. She said since you didn’t have the decency to take a little time out of your week to come to our meeting.”

Brief irritation flitted across Draco’s face.

The little girl half walked and half skipped over to stand beside Draco and then wrapped her arms around his waist in a hug. You stared openly, expecting him to shove her away, but he just wrapped an arm around her shoulders and rolled his eyes, looking a very enticing mixture between exasperated and affectionate. And then the little girl’s eyes moved to you and she examined you so carefully that you began feeling rather self-conscious.

“Oh. So you’re the reason Draco is up here all the time,” she said finally. “Are you sick?”

“She’s recovering,” said Draco. “The Hospital Wing is too loud for her so she’s here. Don’t question her too much, Emma.”

Emma’s curious eyes lingered on you again. “You’re a Hufflepuff prefect.” It was very carefully formed as a statement and not a question, and you saw Draco purse his lips, but you could have sworn that his mouth also twitched in amusement.

“Yes,” you answered, fighting the sudden urge to laugh.

“You know, I have two friends in Hufflepuff now,” she said proudly. “I didn’t have any friends before, but now I do. And they’re very nice. They said you’re nice, too.”

“That’s good,” you told her, bemused.

Her eyes ranged over you again. “Oh, I see now. You’ve been crying, haven’t you? And Draco was making you feel better, wasn’t he? Draco’s nice. Don’t you think so? Most people don’t think Draco’s nice, but I do. I think he just doesn’t want people to _think_ he’s nice.”

“Enough, pest,” he drawled, clapping a hand over mouth, and Emma giggled against his palm and pushed his hand away, eyes glittering.

You, on the other hand, had covered your mouth in an attempt to hide the sudden burst of laughter that came bubbling over your lips, but you couldn’t quite manage it. Draco shot you a look and then turned back to Emma.

“Did you walk here alone?” Draco demanded.

Emma looked suddenly sheepish. “Yes.”

Draco sighed. “I told you to have a walking partner at all times, didn’t I?” He looked suddenly very stern and you stared, completely fascinated at the unorthodox relationship.

“Sorry Draco. I will from now on. Promise.” Emma brightened after a few more moments of looking subdued. “So are you friends?” she asked suddenly. “Draco and I are friends, so if you’re friends, then I suppose we should _also_ be friends. I’m Emma.”

“Pleasure,” you said, very amused now. “I’m Y/N.”

“Are you and Draco friends?” she pressed eagerly, clearly not socially equipped enough to realize that skating over the question meant that neither of you really wanted to answer it.

“Er—yes,” you said, eyes flicking to his briefly. “We’re friends.”

He threw you a smile that again melted your insides, which was something that very specifically did _not_ happen with friends, but you didn’t feel he or Emma had to know that, and you hastily looked away to her again. 

She was gazing up at Draco with a very dramatic look of disdain. “Why didn’t you TELL me,” she asked him indignantly.

“I don’t tell you everything, you know,” he said, tugging her hair a little.

“Yes, but _her_! There are legends about you, you know,” said Emma to you very seriously.

“I’m sorry, what?” You stared at her in alarm and vague surprise.

“Oh yes. Some of the second and third years told some of _us_ first years that they think that you can read _minds_ , because you sometimes answer questions that they didn’t say out loud and you don’t even realize. _Can_ you read minds? That would be _awesome_.” She looked positively enthralled.

You blinked rapidly, feeling suddenly panicked, and automatically looked to Draco for help. When he saw your helpless look he scoffed loudly and looked down at her. “Reading minds?” he said, tugging on Emma’s hair again as she shrieked and pulled away, though clearly loving every second. “Your imagination is getting the better of you again.”

“No, it’s not,” she said, pouting. “There’s even a word. _Legilimens_.” She looked pleased with herself at remembering the word. “Maybe _you_ should study more, Draco.”

He arched a displeased eyebrow at her and you couldn’t help it: you laughed.

You started to laugh so hard that you had to aggressively cover your mouth to keep the giggles at bay. 

Draco leaned down to mutter in your ear, “Please don’t encourage her,” but this only made you laugh harder and you couldn’t stop for a long time.

“Emma,” said Draco finally, a tinge of urgency in his voice. “You shouldn’t know she’s here. People think she’s in the Hospital Wing. It has to be a secret.”

Emma looked as if she had died and gone to the highest level of heaven. “Oh, I _swear_ I won’t tell anyone! I promise! Friends get mad if you tell secrets, and I don’t have many friends, so I know not to tell secrets.”

“Good,” said Draco. He glanced at you. “We could go downstairs, or stay here…” He gestured to a table in the corner of the room.

“You can do whatever you’d like,” you said. “Can you just get me more Dreamless Sleep Potion?” It seemed having a complete grief-induced breakdown was exhausting. Immediately, Draco was sweeping over to his cupboard and back with a vial of deep blue potion, waiting while you drank it, and then plucking the empty vial from your fingers.

“We’ll go downstairs then,” he said, eyes careful and intent as always as he observed you. “So you have some quiet.”

You fought a smile at his overblown concern. “Okay,” was all you said, settling back.

* * *

They had settled in downstairs and Emma’s quill had been scratching for ten minutes before it paused, and then she was peering at him. “What?” Draco asked her, rolling his eyes.

Her eyes flicked to the staircase. “Why was she crying?”

“Because,” said Draco heavily, “The Carrows killed her friend on Halloween.”

A look of pure heartbreak on Emma’s face. “Oh, of course that’s what it was,” she fretted. “And that was only last week! She must feel terrible. Did you at least get her flowers, Draco?”

He blinked. “What? Flowers?”

“Yes,” said Emma, raising her eyebrows. “Her friend died, and you’re her friend.”

“I—that might not be…the best idea,” he said carefully.

“Why would something kind not be the best idea?” she asked, bewildered.

“Our friendship is different,” he said. “Now no more questions.”

“How is it different?” she pressed, tugging on his sleeve. “I don’t really understand why— ”

“She might not like getting flowers from me, okay?” Draco snapped, pinching the bridge of his nose. “She’s a little…on the fence about being friends with me.”

“What does that mean?”

“Didn’t I say no more questions? Pest,” he said, frowning at her.

She deflated. “Well, fine,” she conceded. “But it sounds like you would want to give them to her and you’re just afraid that she will reject your gift.”

“You’re walking on very thin ice, Emma,” he said crossly. “I said _no_ _more_.”

She went quiet, but had a bit of a self-satisfied smile on her face that made him feel distinctly ruffled. This little girl had no concept anymore of her place, and he had no heart to put her in it.

He was so, so fucked.

* * *

“Draco!”

Twenty minutes later, Emma’s voice jolted him out of a reverie, and he glanced over from where he had been gazing vaguely at the staircase, lost in thought, to see that she had an excitable look on her face. He immediately felt strong foreboding. “I had to say your name four times just now to get your attention,” she whispered loudly, looking positively gleeful. “You _like_ her!”

"Be quiet!” hissed Draco, glaring at her. “Merlin, you’re such a bloody pest.”

“You _do_ ,” she said quietly but smugly, looking almost ready to leap from her chair and start triumphantly dancing around the room. “Do you want to know how I could tell, Draco?”

“Not at all, but I assume you’re going to prattle on and tell me anyway,” he said, acid in his tone as he threw her the most intimidating glare he could.

It didn’t work, but by now he knew Emma well enough to expect that.

“Well I love romances—”

“I know,” said Draco shortly. Her love of romance novels had been a frequent chatter topic during tutoring sessions, or when she sat by him at meals, or trailed next to him in corridors.

She was not deterred by his unfriendly tone. “And one of my very favorites is Romeo and Juliet—”

“Why?” interrupted Draco, wrinkling his nose in disgust. “The characters weren’t sympathetic. They were bloody idiots.”

“You’ve read it?” She ignored his critique and looked positively delighted, and he pushed away the unwilling rush of affection that gave him.

“Yes,” he said irritably, a memory of Y/N’s voice gliding over the words of Shakespeare in one of the many afternoons or nights in her alcove flitting automatically through his mind. She had swatted at him whenever he had complained about the idiocy of Romeo; he remembered one time he had caught her hand in midair and kissed it, all of her knuckles, and then kissed her, feeling pleased that even after months together he had still been able to fluster her.

“The love at first sight is very unrealistic,” said Emma seriously. “I mostly liked it because my mum got me a nice illustrated version for my last birthday. They’re so pretty.” Draco wrinkled his nose again, but she plowed on anyway. “And there’s this picture of Romeo daydreaming about Juliet…” She sighed, looking rather dreamy. “His eyes look so wistful and soft in that one, and he seems so in love. And your face just now was _ident_ —”

“If you compare me to that wanker Romeo, we’re ending our study session right this second,” he growled, feeling his neck get uncomfortably hot. “I don’t care if your homework is done or not.”

“You’re blushing!” she crooned, giggling, and her excited eyes flew to the staircase again.

Draco snatched her hand and pinned it to the table, eyes blazing furiously.

“This isn’t a fucking game, Emma,” and his tone had become so dark and threatening that her eyes widened, and she bit her lip as she gazed up at him, understanding the seriousness.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I was just happy and wanted to know—”

“Too bad,” he hissed, cutting her off. “Don’t you get it?” He pinched the bridge of his nose in exasperation. “Don’t you know why the Carrows killed your cat, Emma?”

Her lip trembled, but she held his gaze steadily. “Because they’re crazy?”

Draco’s mouth twitched despite himself; he sighed and released her arm, and she looked relieved but was still watching him cautiously.

“Well yes,” he admitted. “But it’s something else, too.”

“What?”

"They killed Persephone,” said Draco, “Precisely _because_ you loved her so much. People like them…they know you care and they use it against you, you understand?”

Slowly, she nodded, eyes practically bulging out of her skull. “Yes,” she said finally, looking both nauseous and incredibly depressed. Her voice lowered to a conspiratorial whisper. “So she’s your Persephone?”

Draco didn’t answer.

Emma kept pressing.

"She is, isn’t she? Does she know?”

Draco pursed his lips. “No.”

“Have you ever said it out loud?”

“What? No.” Draco rolled his eyes.

“Some people believe words are a kind of magic. I’ve read about it. Saying something out loud has a certain power, you know. It’s healing. Maybe it will make you less sad and angry.”

Draco scoffed, closing his eyes. “Those are stupid beliefs.”

“You’d know all about those.”

His eyes flew open, and his jaw dropped.

But Emma wasn’t looking abashed in the slightest by her cheek. She just stared back defiantly, not blinking. “I know what you believe, Draco. You have that snake and skull tattoo on your arm, and I know what that means. About—about people who have Muggle parents.” Her voice wavered a little, but she plunged on determinedly. “Maybe you shouldn’t be so closed to new ideas anymore. Maybe then school wouldn’t be so scary. Maybe Y/N’s friend and lots of other people wouldn’t have died.”

He just stared at her, too shocked to be angry or to snap at her. There was a horrible, acidic feeling rising in his throat and guilt twisted his insides.

He wondered if he was about to be sick.

“So I think you should say it.” She folded her tiny little arms and waited.

Draco scowled, fidgeting a little before he spoke. “Fine,” he said, very dully. “ _Fine_. Yes. She’s my Persephone. All right? Happy now?”

Emma looked very smug again. “So you love her?”

Draco’s eyes flashed. "You’ve heard enough. You are not— _guilting_ me into discussing even more of my romantic life with you, and if you ask or talk about it again I swear I’ll throttle you.”

Emma looked down, frowning. “I just wanted to help.”

“Yeah, I know,” said Draco tiredly. His anger was already evaporating and a pit was forming in his stomach. 

His gray eyes watched her for a long moment as she began writing slowly again; there was a distinct pain in her eyes, and the next words began spilling out before he could control them. “Emma. I’ve known you’re a Muggleborn since the day I met you. I don’t care.”

She froze, dropping her quill with a light clatter before gaping up at him. And then her eyes filled with tears. “I have to turn in my paperwork at the end of November again,” she whispered hoarsely, and there was such terror on her face that it made him ache. “What do you think they’ll do to me?”

A rush of protectiveness so powerful that it made his hands tremor rushed through him. “Nothing,” Draco growled, leaning forward. “I told you. Didn’t I? Nothing will happen to you.”

“How do you know?” Her wide eyes were now full with tears, but she wasn’t letting them fall.

“Because I’ll make sure of it. I have a plan. All right?”

With a quiet little wail, she launched forward from the chair and threw her arms around his midriff in a hug, burying her face in his shirt and beginning to quietly sob. He just petted her hair until she had calmed down. “I knew you were good, Draco,” she mumbled. “I knew you were.”

“I’m…trying to be better,” he said, squeezing his eyes shut.

“You are better,” she promised him. “You really are.”

* * *

When you woke it was already evening, judging by the darkness of the room and the vaguely purple hue of light spilling in through the window.

Draco was standing by it, hands in his pockets, apparently deep in thought as he gazed outside. Around his silhouette you could see more colors of the sky: purples and reds and oranges. 

The sun was setting, and it looked breathtaking tonight, especially from up here, in Head Tower.

You stayed quiet and just watched him for a long moment.

He was very still. Almost unnervingly so.

His clothes fit him so nicely; his shoulders were so broad.

You still wanted—

Things you shouldn’t want.

You cleared your throat just a little to announce that you were no longer sleeping, and he slowly turned, his expression indecipherable. “Feeling better?” he murmured.

“Think so,” you said, face getting a little warm as you remembered your complete mental breakdown earlier.

“I apologize for Emma,” he said, walking toward the bedside and watching you carefully. “I did not arrange for her to be sent here. I’ve had a word with Pansy.” His mouth twisted briefly.

“I didn’t mind,” you said, and then started to smile as you sat up. “You know, I think it’s just like you to use an insult as a term of endearment.”

Draco sat on the edge of the bed, shaking his head and rolling his eyes. “Tutoring her is a complete waste of my time. There’s absolutely no need. She’s smart as a fucking whip.” There was no disguising the affection that had crept into his voice, and at the amused look on your face he hastily added, “Irritating as all hell though. She really is a pest. Never leaves me be.”

You laughed. “Yes, you seem very opposed,” you teased.

“Quiet,” he said gruffly, though he appeared self-satisfied.

After a moment of silence, he said, “You’re officially released tomorrow. No classes until Tuesday. I made sure that Pomfrey could have you skip Monday.”

“Thank you,” you said, knowing why he did it. You fought the urge to shudder as you thought of returning to the weekly prefect meetings.

He fidgeted with the bed covers a moment before his silver eyes moved up to meet yours. “It’s your last night here. What do you want to do?”

You very determinedly shoved your mind out of the gutter again. It was becoming quite the skill of yours after days almost constantly in Draco’s presence. “What I would really want to do is go outside,” you said, sighing as your eyes flicked to the window. “Since I’ve been cooped up in here. But we can’t very well go wandering the castle if people think I’m in the Hospital Wing. And I really don’t fancy the idea of running into the Carrows or Crabbe.”

Draco looked thoughtful for a moment. And then he smiled. “I think I have an idea.” He stood and swept over to his trunk, pulling out his broom and looking at you with a pointed smile.

“Flying?” You looked at it dubiously. It wasn’t that you had been an atrocious flier. But it wasn’t necessarily something you had _loved_ either. Heights made you nervous.

Draco’s smile grew wider. “Come on, Y/N. You said you felt cooped up.”

“Okay,” you said, though still tentative. “Fine. I think.” You got up from the bed and made your way to the bathroom to dress. When you came out, Draco was already dressed in warm clothes and pulling jumpers and scarves and gloves out of his dresser. When you walked up, he began carefully bundling you up before stepping back and grinning, flicking his wand to open the window.

“This is insane,” you muttered, heart pounding as you clambered on the broom behind him and wrapped your arms around his middle. 

The open window that you were perched at was sending a chilly breeze into the room, but it already felt good to get some fresh air on your face.

“Just hold on very tightly,” Draco said. “And don’t scream. Otherwise we might be noticed.”

“What? Why would I scream?”

He paused. “Well, we’re not kicking off the ground. We’ll be launching out of a window, so we’ll—er—dive downward quite quickly for a couple of seconds before I can steady it.”

“Never mind,” you said, shaking your head furiously and beginning to unravel from him to get off the broom. “I changed my mind. I don’t want to.”

His hands came to snatch yours and keep them where they were. “Please? You’ve seen me fly, haven’t you? You know I’m a really good flier, don’t you?”

“Very humble,” you said, poking him.

He shot you a crooked smile—a confident smirk over his shoulder that you didn’t feel you had seen in ages. Lighthearted. More like himself. You couldn’t help but smile back. 

“I won’t let anything happen,” he said seriously. “I promise. I’ve done this before. Just hold on really tight.”

“All right,” you said, squeezing tighter and closing your eyes. “Fine. Go.”

Draco kicked off, launching the broom out the window.

Sure enough the broom began to plummet downward, nose first. Like he was diving, but too sharply. 

Your stomach was dropping, your body felt like air, your heart was in your throat. The wind whistled past your face and you had a death grip on Draco’s torso, pressing your face into the back of his shirt and refusing to look at the ground rushing toward you. You didn’t think that you would even be able to scream if you could—all the air felt pulled from your lungs.

After what felt like forever, the nose of the broom turned up. Draco was guiding it again, and your muscles relaxed just a little, but still stayed mostly locked in place; though you did chance a glance out from his back. The colors of the sky were even more beautiful out here, and the view of the grounds and the glittering lights of the castle was stunning.

As long as you didn’t think too much about how high up you were.

Thankfully, he didn’t make it last too long. He guided the broom expertly to the rooftop of the Astronomy Tower and landed. For a long moment you just sat there, frozen, still clinging to him for dear life. And then you realized that you were laughing.

“Is this an ‘I’m terrified and am in hysterics laugh’ or ‘I actually enjoyed myself’ laugh?” Draco asked over his shoulder. “It sounds like the second one, but since you aren’t letting go of me, maybe I’m reading this wrong.”

You slipped your hands away and clambered off the broom, still feeling unnaturally giddy. “I’m fine,” you assured him, working to catch your breath. “That was—that was—”

“Fun?” He had also stepped off the broom, turning to look at your lit up eyes with a smile that crinkled the corners of his. “I told you.”

You both walked to the edge of the roof, Draco with his broom slung over one shoulder and blonde hair ruffled. 

You both stood there for a moment, surveying the grounds. It was peaceful here. Made you content. Getting out of that room had been even more important than you’d thought.

Several minutes had passed before you saw something that made you gasp.

A great reptilian horse-like creature with wings, black, and with waxy skin so thin that you could see bones, had just flown out of the Forbidden Forest and was swooping your direction, toward the castle.

Your hand shot out to grip Draco’s arm. “What is that? Do you see it? It’s coming this way!”

“It’s all right,” said Draco quietly. “It’s just a thestral.”

Your mind searched for the word and remembered a lesson in fifth year. With Hagrid, in Care of Magical Creatures. You remembered an invisible creature taking huge chunks out of pieces of meat on the ground—as if the meat had been demolishing itself.

_People can only see thestrals if they have seen death…_

You choked and shuddered, Susan’s lifeless eyes flashing through your memory. Draco stepped closer, slipping a careful arm around your shoulders. “I’m sorry you see them now.”

You didn’t mind the contact. You pressed yourself closer. “When could you see them?”

There was a long pause. “When I first came here for sixth year,” he said finally, “I could see them.”

“Oh.” Your voice wavered. 

So long ago. He’d seen so much more, so much earlier.

You both watched as the thestral swooped directly over the Astronomy Tower, over your heads and off into the night, toward the opposite horizon. And then Draco sighed and gently turned you, pulling you into a hug. “I am very sorry about Susan, Y/N,” he said, and you felt tears begin to burn at the corner of your eyes. “Don’t put it off too much. Don’t isolate yourself either.”

“I’ll—I’ll try,” you whispered, clutching tighter at his back as he tucked his chin on top of your head. “You really shouldn’t either. You’ve seen much more than me. I’m…concerned.”

Again, he was quiet for a moment. “Sometimes,” he said, “It’s like I can feel dark magic in me. Seeping in. In my bones. It—it does things to you, you know. To your magic. And your soul.”

“Not if you don’t like it,” you told him fiercely. “You don’t like the things you have to do.”

“No,” he said hoarsely. “But regardless. I think I’m—I think I might be—tainted.”

“Don’t say that,” you lectured, pulling back to glare at him. “Don’t! You’re not.”

His eyes looked resigned, but instead of arguing, he gave you a cautious smile. “I’ve liked having you around, you know. Things feel better now. Between us.”

Your heart sped up a little. “Yes,” you agreed. “I think they are.”

He stepped back from the hug, hovering a few paces before you.

“I’ve been wanting to—” He paused, shifting slightly. His face was neutral, but you knew that the careful way he was speaking and the slight fidgeting gave away nerves. “I should say—”

“What is it?” you pressed gently, when he didn’t speak for a long moment.

“I’ve been wanting to apologize,” he mumbled, not looking at you. “Properly. First for everything this year—and with Pansy. I should have been more direct. Pansy is…my future.”

You nodded, feeling numb. "I know. She told me you two plan on—on marrying.”

“Did she?” He was frowning.

“Yes. She said at the end of the school year. I can’t say I understand your dynamic but if that makes you happy…” You swallowed a lump in your throat, hoping it wasn’t too obvious you were doing so or that this conversation was cutting you deep. “Then that's—good. I’m glad.” You forced a smile.

He was silent, staring at you with an unfathomable expression.

And then he looked away again, up at the sky, lips pursed. “I was not lying when I said we are both able to see others. But I don’t—" He stopped, looking very agitated. He still wasn’t looking at you. “I don’t want to do that.”

“I’d be surprised if you did,” you said kindly, still trying to remain calm. “I did actually take you as more of the—you know. Monogamous sort.”

His gaze moved down to meet yours. His eyes had been blank, but something sparked in them; and the corners of his mouth twitched up, though you were uncertain what could have amused him. “Yes,” was all he said, nodding, eyes flicking over your face. “I suppose I am.”

You glanced out over the grounds again, and his arm once more came around your shoulders.

Finally, Draco said, “I also wanted to apologize for last year.”

“For last year? What for?” Your brow furrowed in bewilderment.

His feet shuffled. “I made you feel unimportant.“

You were quite speechless. "It wasn’t like that all the time,” you said reassuringly, when you had regained your composure.

“It was like that enough,” he pointed out, watching you intently.

“I know you had a lot going on,” you said, shrugging. “And I know I’m a bit more…emotionally needy than you. That’s okay, Draco. I really don’t begrudge you for that.”

“Don’t make excuses for me,” he said, voice a little rough, and you blinked, surprised. “You were important, and you should have felt like it. It’s that simple. And you still are. I think about your well-being. Just—you know.” His eyes went shuttered again, and he glanced down to his feet, pursing his lips a moment. “In a different way. Not in a—a girlfriend way.”

“I know that,” you said gently, squeezing his arm. “It’s like we said. We’ll still look out for each other.”

Draco looked up, giving you a small smile, which you returned.

It was another twenty minutes before you decided to leave the rooftop. 

The launch was easier this time, since he had a surface to push off of; and soon enough you were clambering in through Draco’s Head Tower window again, feeling better than you had before you’d left.


	17. Sixteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: language, horror, medical stuff, violence, (!!)graphic depictions of torture (!!)depictions of control non-con (as in Imperius), and (!!)allusions to other non-con. i assume people who can’t handle dark or disturbing things have already fled far away from this fic lol but just in case: things get darker still. we slowly learn about very disturbing aspects of Death Eater culture moving forward.

The month of November and the weeks before the break in December were—

Strange.

Time passed in irregular chunks due to fear and stress and grief. 

Sometimes it moved far too slowly, and yet sometimes it felt like you would blink and a week would pass.

You and Draco remained carefully distant, save for a mere two interactions scattered over the month and a half. 

That did not stop your eyes searching him out daily during meals, or your hyper awareness of his presence anytime that he happened to share a room with you.

* * *

The first week after you left Draco’s Head Tower was spent mostly with friends and making up homework. Hannah, without Susan, was glued to your side, and Terry too seemed determined to see you as much as was possible as someone from another House could.

The weekend you had gotten out, that very Saturday night, in fact, there had been a little ceremony held for Susan in the Room of Requirement.

You didn’t really want to talk to anyone. You forced a smile and nodded when people approached, arm always linked with Hannah’s and Terry hovering by your side rather like an extremely loyal guard dog. Sometimes he took your hand.

You let him. 

It was actually quite nice to have contact when he was still so silent.

People mingled afterward and you tried to be as patient as possible when people came up to you and told you how pleased they were that you had recovered or that they felt so sorry for you and Hannah, since you had both been closer with Susan—which, coincidentally, did not make you feel much better.

The only people who did not do this were Luna, Neville, and Ginny. 

Ginny had only came to both of you with pursed lips, gave you brief hugs, and said fiercely, eyes blazing, “We’ll get those bastards back,” before handing you a piece of cake that the Room had conjured for the occasion.

Luna had flitted over and, after careful assessment, hugged Hannah and then gave you a small smile. “I can tell you don’t like hugs all that much,” she said to you simply, before she spoke in her whimsical voice about auras after someone dies, her eyes slightly dreamy and yet also very sad. Curiously, it was Luna’s half-present and slightly batty monologue that had been the most comforting, or at the very least hadn’t made you want to cry again or shake someone very violently.

Neville talked about how Susan’s whole family had gone down fighting, how brave the Bones were, and that no one would ever forget it. 

And then he looked at you intently and said, “Y/N? A quick word?” He tilted his head off to the side and you nodded mutely, surprised. Once a few steps away, Neville took a deep breath. “I wanted to apologize. For Halloween.”

“Oh,” you said, blinking. “Oh, but Neville, nothing that happened was your fault.”

He shuffled his feet. “At the punch table,” he said, “I didn’t know what good speaking up would be, but I still shouldn’t have let you take—”

“Y/N!” A Hufflepuff girl year younger, one that you didn’t know, stepped in and cut Neville off, a look of pure tragedy on her face as she reached out to hug you.

Inwardly, you stifled a sigh. “What were you saying, Neville?” you asked him pointedly, just as the girl opened her mouth to ramble, you were sure, about how wonderful Susan was and about how well you had known her and how badly you must be hurting and—and you just wanted to scream.

“Er—never mind,” mumbled Neville awkwardly. “I’m just glad you’re okay. You were really brave that night.”

And then he shuffled off, with you watching him curiously as he went.

It wasn’t long before you couldn’t handle anymore and left.

Hannah clung to you all the way back to the Hufflepuff Common Room and you both cried and went to bed that night worn and exhausted.

You were still, notably, unable to hear anyone.

* * *

You returned to classes on Tuesday.

You and Hannah avoided public spots. There were too many stares and whispers.

Naturally, what had happened on Halloween was no secret, and the whole school was talking about it. Most seemed shaken or at least disturbed by Susan’s death, even those who hadn’t known her. Several members of Hufflepuff House had burst into tears at random intervals that week, and you had once caught Professor Sprout discreetly mopping her eyes during Herbology.

It was on Thursday evening during your patrols with Ernie, when you were walking through a corridor near the library, that you heard a familiar, squeaky voice called your name. “Y/N!”

When you turned you saw that it was Emma, running as fast as her legs could carry her. “Hi!” she said breathlessly, when she reached you. “Could you maybe walk me to my Common Room?” She peeked at Ernie uncertainly, clearly wanting to be alone with you.

Ernie was giving you a questioning look, probably wondering why this Slytherin first year seemed to know you, and you hastened to say, “Sure, Emma. Ernie, maybe we can take different routes and I’ll just meet up with you down by the Potions dungeon in ten minutes or so?”

Ernie just nodded, and you and Emma changed direction and began walking a different path down to the Slytherin Common Room, with her leading the way.

“You’re really nice,” Emma chirped appreciatively. “I get caught up in reading sometimes and I forget how late it is. And I promised Draco I’d find someone to walk with me. I’m sorry to bother you.”

“It’s not a bother at all,” you promised.

“I also really wanted to walk with you. Because I have something for you,” said Emma very brightly, and she began rummaging around in the bag slung over her shoulder as she walked. Eventually she was able to pull out a bouquet of flowers that was almost certainly too big for the bag—nearly bigger than her entire torso, really—and she thrust them at you.

“Here,” she said. “These are for you. From Draco and I.”

You both halted in your tracks and you stared at her for a long moment before slowly reaching out to take the flowers. “For—for me?” You were horrified to hear that your voice was a bit choked.

“Yes,” said Emma, looking rather serious now. “I asked Draco which colors you like and I picked them out. I know he wanted to give them to you too, but I think he was afraid. Do you like them?”

“I—I love them,” you said, touched. Warm tears were springing to your eyes.

“I lost my best friend,” said Emma conversationally. “Well, I’m sure it’s much worse for you. Mine wasn’t human. She was my kitty, Persephone. Draco helped me bury her. That’s when I knew he wasn’t evil. I miss her a whole lot. My friends let me talk about her, and it helps. Or sometimes when they talk about other things it distracts me if I’m sad. You can talk to me, if you’d like. Since we’re friends now. Or I can talk to you. I can talk for a long time about all sorts of interesting topics. I read a lot, you see. I’m quite clever, you know. And—” She stopped, suddenly looking sheepish. “Sorry. Draco said if I ever shut up, we’d know hell has frozen over.”

You choked again, half a laugh and half a sob, and she reached out to hug you. “Thank you, Emma,” you told her, patting her head. “That’s very kind.” You peered at her bag. “You can’t do an Extendable Charm already, can you?”

“Oh, no,” said Emma cheerily, as you started to walk again. “That was Draco. He said if he didn’t my bag would break from all the books I carry. And he also put a charm on it to make it light all the time. He said if he didn’t do _that_ then my back would give out, and he didn’t want to hear me whine about being injured. So now I can carry as many as I want, and it’s still as light as a feather!”

You found yourself fighting a smile. Draco’s affection for this little girl clearly extended even further than you’d realized on that day in his room in Head Tower.

Your smile quickly slid away, however, when you heard an all too familiar voice just as you reached the location of the Slytherin Common Room.

“Whatcha doin’ down here, Halfblood? Come to finish what we started?”

It was, just as you knew before you turned to look, Crabbe, lumbering toward you with a leer that made you distinctly nervous. 

You didn’t even bother trying to seem aloof this time. You pulled out your wand and narrowed your eyes as he prowled closer, taking a step to block Emma. “Walking a younger student back to the Common Room, Crabbe,” you said sharply. “Leave it.”

“But I have a bone to pick with ya,” he said, his eyes beady and angry. “Two duels you escaped too easily, didn’t ya?”

“Do you call a four day coma and extensive injuries easy?” Your voice was like ice. “You won, Crabbe. That’s it. You can feel pleased and we can move on.”

Crabbe’s face suddenly twisted in unbridled fury. “No, we can’t. I know it was you that got me put in the Hospital Wing. I _know_ it was, Halfblood. I just got out Wednesday. Pomfrey said I was lucky.” His eyes flashed. “That thing you slipped in my food would have eaten up my insides.”

You blinked. “What?”

Now that you thought about it, you hadn’t seen Crabbe that week.

_Oh god…_

“That wasn’t me, Crabbe,” you said firmly.

He snorted, eyes flashing again. “Right. Who else would it be? You wanted revenge, Halfblood. Because I nearly bashed your brains in, and because the Carrows turned your friend into shit and I helped it happen.” He leered. “And you know what, I’m glad they killed her. How’s it feel, then?”

Your wand hand twitched in fury, but you forced your voice to remain calm. “Yes, Crabbe. You’re right. You got me. You won. Go on now.” 

You nudged Emma behind you. “ _Go_ ,” you whispered out of the corner of your mouth, but she didn’t move from behind you. She only gripped your arm tighter.

“Whatcha gonna do if I don’t, eh?” Crabbe jeered. “Can’t hardly do magic, can ya, you stupid bitch?” He pulled out his wand and pointed it straight at your heart; you felt it hammering painfully against your rib cage in response.

There weren’t many options; not with Emma right behind you. 

If he sent something at you that couldn’t be blocked, you couldn’t dodge without risking it hitting her. Then again, if she started to walk away now, you were beginning to fear that Crabbe might hurt her just to spite you.

“Of course I can,” you snapped, hoping to sound more confident than you were.

“Who gave ya the flowers?” Crabbe taunted. “I don’t think you deserve to have flowers, little Puff.” He summoned them, lit them on fire, and then laughed, and the hairs on the back of your neck stood up as you watched them shrivel up and burn, and at the glint that had come into his eyes when he looked at you again. “You ever heard of a Death Eater’s plaything, Halfblood? Fancy being one?”

Your mouth went very dry.

“Crabbe!” A sharp voice, also familiar—though in a way that made your entire body relax for a moment—sounded through the corridor. Draco was striding your direction, eyes blazing. You felt Emma’s head peek out from your torso and she let out a little squeak, gripping you tighter.

“Malfoy,” said Crabbe, eyeing Draco with contempt. “Bugger off. I’m busy.”

“How dare you speak to me that way, Crabbe,” said Draco very coldly. “Remember your place.”

Crabbe snorted. “My place? I’m gonna become a Death Eater over break. Just like you. I asked and got the owl back. I’ll probably be a much better one, too. You’re a joke, Malfoy, and everyone knows it.”

Draco’s eyes flashed dangerously, but he chose to ignore this. “What are you doing here?”

“I have unfinished business with this Hufflepuff,” snarled Crabbe. “Our duels. And that magical bug that started gnawing at my intestines. Could’ve died. I was in the Hospital Wing for almost a _week_. She needs to be put in her place. When I get initiated, I think I’ll ask the Dark Lord for her.” He grinned, and for a moment he went out of focus as a wave of panic washed over you.

It was very slight, but you thought you saw Draco pale. 

It did not help you feel better.

You also really wished Emma was not here to hear this conversation, because judging from context, you had a very good idea of what a Death Eater plaything was. She was shaking violently behind you.

“There are children present, Crabbe,” drawled Draco, and though his voice sounded disinterested and almost bored, his eyes were hard as stone. “Try not to act like a half-witted animal for a few moments, if you think that’s possible for you.”

“The kid can go,” grunted Crabbe, shrugging nonchalantly. His eyes flicked to yours. “I just want this little Puff.”

Draco stepped forward to put himself in front of Crabbe’s wand.

“Well, you can’t have her,” said Draco, voice casual and detached as always, though you heard the slight dark undertones rippling in it. “Halfbloods have value, remember? The Dark Lord would be displeased if harm comes to her. I was told that he was very upset with the Carrows about Bones. They shouldn’t have made that decision. They aren’t even in the Inner Circle. They were punished for spilling precious magical blood, and from a powerful family. Perhaps you didn’t hear about that due to your…lack of status.” Draco’s voice was dripping with condescension. You saw Crabbe’s eyes flicker. “So,” said Draco, “If you wouldn’t like to risk losing your chance at the Mark, then remember yourself. Walk away.”

You only saw Draco’s side profile from this angle, half behind him, but you saw, momentarily, how his eyes blazed brighter, a warning and challenge in them.

You felt sick, but forced yourself to remain calm. 

Emma’s grip on your arm was making it go numb.

Crabbe shot Draco a contemptuous look, and then his eyes, full of rage, moved to you one last time. “When the Dark Lord is pleased with me, I’ll ask. One way or the other I’ll make you wish you’d never been born,” Crabbe warned dangerously, but then he turned on his heel and began to stalk away.

Your entire body relaxed, and once Crabbe had left the corridor Emma slipped out from behind you and flung herself on Draco with a little whimper. “It’s all right,” Draco murmured, picking her up and gathering her closer as his silver eyes moved to yours, looking desperate. “I’m sorry, Y/N,” he said hoarsely. “I’m such an idiot. I should have known that he might think it was you. I’m so sorry.”

You remembered something he had said when you had been healing, up in Head Tower.

_I am planning on disemboweling Crabbe._

“You—you tried to kill him?” you asked, feeling rather faint.

“I knew it wouldn’t kill him,” said Draco. “It takes days to do that, and he’d go to the Hospital before.” His face went black with rage. “I did, however, want him to suffer. Deeply.”

“I’m just glad you came at the right time,” you said shakily. “Very lucky.”

“Yes. I was down here looking for Emma.” He pulled back from the hug and looked down at her very seriously. “Here.” He pulled an envelope out of his robes and handed it to her. “Open it with no one else around, understand? Now go on into the Common Room, Emma. Go to bed. Everything is just fine. Come find me tomorrow and we’ll talk more, all right?”

She nodded obediently, sniffling, and hugged him fiercely before bounding over to hug you once more. She slipped quickly over to the portrait, murmured the password, and went inside.

Draco turned to face you.

You weren’t sure where to start. There were questions you had for him. About what he had just given Emma. About things he and Crabbe had said. About how he was doing. You just stared at him for a long moment and he stared carefully back, and strangely the first thing that came out was—

“Thank you for the flowers,” you said quietly. “Crabbe burned them, unfortunately.”

His eyes flickered, and then he looked distinctly awkward. “It was Emma’s idea.”

“That’s what she told me.” You both gazed at each other for a long moment again before you finally asked, “What was that thing you just gave Emma?”

Draco looked down to his feet. “Nothing important.”

He was lying.

For some reason, this made you uneasy.

_None of my business_ , you reminded yourself. _If he doesn’t want to tell you, butt out._

“Y/N!” A voice sounded behind you. It was Ernie, rushing toward you and looking worried. “It took you longer than I thought it should, so I came looking…so glad you’re okay. I think.” His suspicious gaze moved to Draco. “Malfoy,” greeted Ernie coldly. “No need to bother us on patrols.”

Draco just scoffed, rolled his eyes, and then began strolling off, but you caught him glancing over his shoulder before he rounded the corridor, a look meant just for you.

You understood what it meant.

_Be careful._

* * *

That Friday, you cast the Imperius Curse for the first time in Dark Arts class.

Thankfully, you were divided up into partners to practice and you were with Hannah.

Even missing the theoretical last few classes leading up to the practical element, it was easy to do. Scarily easy. And having it cast on you was also not…unpleasant.

In fact, it felt quite nice. Not having control was freeing. Not having responsibilities took a heavy weight off your heart and your mind that you hadn’t even known was there until you felt that giddy, lightheaded feeling and knew you would follow any whisper that Hannah put into your head.

You wished you could stay practicing the Imperius Curse the rest of the year.

Unfortunately, the first prefect meeting since you had missed the last two was not so easy.

To your horror, when you first walked in the room the following Monday evening, you saw that Crabbe was also there, as well as a few other seventh year students you didn’t recognize. They had some sort of badge pinned to their chests that you couldn’t make out.

By the way the other students were clustered away from them and shooting them furtive, confused glances, you assumed this was new and not something that you had missed while you were away.

As usual, you took your seat beside Terry, a lump of horror in your throat, and stared at the floor while you waited on the doom that was the Carrow’s arrival.

When they came lumbering in, they smiled at seeing the other students.

“Seeing as many of our prefects have proven themselves untrustworthy,” said Alecto nastily, “We asked our Headmaster to add a few of the more _honorable_ students to our security ranks.”

This sounded uncomfortably like Umbridge’s Inquisitorial Squad, only so much worse. You chanced a glance at Draco, whose eyes were lingering on Crabbe.

“Now, we had our punishments for the untrustworthy prefects the last two weeks,” continued Alecto, prowling along and looking at each student, though they all avoided her eyes and stared down at the ground. “Except one.” Every muscle in your body tensed and you glanced up fearfully. As expected, Alecto was smiling. “Feeling better, Halfblood? Miss your friend?”

The sudden image of Alecto waving her wand and Susan falling to the ground crossed your mind, and a terrible, blinding fury accompanied it. 

You pursed your lips for a moment, feeling your blood run hot, before you said fiercely, “Aren’t you and your brother Halfbloods too? I suppose that’s why your Lord hasn’t honored you with a Mark on your arm?”

There was a collective intake of breath from most members of the group.

Draco’s face, you could vaguely see over Alecto’s shoulder, had gone white, his detached expression morphing momentarily into a mixture of rage and horror before he could compose it.

“Let me punish her,” said Crabbe eagerly. “She’s cheeky, miss. Let me do it.”

“In due time, Crabbe,” said Alecto softly. “Get up, Y/L/N.”

Legs shaking and already very much regretting your brief outburst of temper, you stood.

Amycus Carrow was hovering near Draco and Pansy, delightedly watching with the exact expression that one would probably wear while watching gladiators tear each other apart in an arena. Or someone watching a public beheading.

“Come here.” Alecto’s voice was the most dangerous you had ever heard it.

You stepped to where she was indicating, fists clenched at your sides in anxious anticipation. After eyeing you for a few moments, smiling slightly, she half turned, though never breaking her predatory gaze from yours, and said out of the corner of her mouth, “Parkinson! On your feet. You first.”

You peeked over, heart pounding.

Pansy’s face was expressionless as she rose to her feet; you could see a muscle twitching in Draco’s jaw from here, and how he was gripping the edges of his chair.

“Torture her,” commanded Alecto, and you met Pansy Parkinson’s eyes.

However she may feel about you, it was obvious that she didn’t want to torture you.

The hesitation and fear was all over her face, just as it had been that time Draco had stepped in for her. Vaguely, you wondered if he would do that again.

Step in to protect Pansy. Torture you.

A strange part of you wanted to go into hysterics and start laughing until your stomach hurt. You kept yourself under control. Waiting for what was coming.

Pansy Parkinson raised her wand. Her hand was steady. She was going to do it this time. There was determination in her eyes next to the reluctance. 

This time she would.

And then, something happened that almost made you fall over.

_I’m going to cast wordlessly. A Tickling Charm. Pretend to scream. I hope you’re a good actress._

Your eyes widened as you stared at her, fighting the urge to let your jaw drop in shock. Pansy was the first person you had heard since Susan’s death. She was projecting, but your ability certainly hadn’t gone away. You become acutely aware of the sudden buzz of the others in the room, as if something had clicked and unlocked in your brain upon hearing your first mind in nearly two weeks.

Your effortless Legilimency was back. 

It had only been temporarily muffled by the concussion. Or perhaps shock. 

But how did Pansy know? Had Draco told her your secret?

As if she was the one in your mind, though it was more likely that she caught the way your eyes flicked to Draco in confusion, Pansy thought very sharply, _No, Draco didn’t tell me. I figured it out. Now stop looking like that, you idiot, it’s suspicious._ _Now_ _fucking_ _drop and_ _scream your head off._

She jabbed her wand very sharply, and blue light shot out.

The surprise of it all made you react a few seconds late to the tickling, but then you promptly collapsed to the ground and began twitching and screaming. You had seen enough people being tortured. You could only hope that this was convincing. It didn’t stop right away, so it seemed that it was.

But then Alecto spoke. “Stop.”

You pretended to lie extremely still, heart pounding, waiting.

Was there a way they could detect that it was fake? Would they be suspicious because she had cast it wordlessly? It was the same color as the Cruciatus Curse, but still…

“Parkinson, that’s weak,” said Alecto finally, sounding disgusted. “At least you had the stones to do it this time, but see how she’s not breathless? Or shaking? Go sit down. Crabbe. Come show her how it’s done.”

Crabbe all but ran to the front of the room, looking very greedy indeed. You were just able to get a brief glimpse of Pansy sitting beside Draco, turning to murmur in his ear and taking his hand, before Crabbe drew his wand. To your surprise, however, pain didn’t come. Instead, he first muttered, “ _Imperio_.”

“Crabbe!” you heard a female voice say sharply, as if from very far away. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered anymore. You felt a lazy smile spread over your face.

“Just havin’ a bit of fun first,” said Crabbe, sounding eager and delighted. Predatory. “Watch, miss. Come here, little Puff.”

You obeyed without hesitation and came to stand before him. Gladly.

Crabbe’s voice was dancing in your brain this time, not out loud. It tickled the back of your mind, a powerful, nagging command: _Kneel_ _before me_.

Again, you did so without second thought. Happy not to have the responsibility of free will.

_Good girl. Know your place, don’t you? On your knees. Now kiss my shoe._

Suddenly, a foot was in your face. Someone was laughing, a cruel, twisted laugh. Others were grumbling, though quietly. You didn’t care about any of it. The only thing that mattered was the voice in your head. You leaned forward and obediently kissed the shoe.

_Now look at me._

One of Crabbe’s hands suddenly came to the back of your head, yanking your hair to tilt your head up. The other rested on your chin, fingers digging in roughly. 

Glancing up, you saw how his eyes were full of rage and promises of pain.

You were not afraid. You would obey. Anything he wanted. Always.

Crabbe let out an amused, dry laugh.

There was suddenly an angry voice, a male one. Vaguely, you recognized it as one you should know, but you didn’t currently care enough to try and pinpoint it. And then that male voice was yelling, being tortured. 

For a moment, this broke you up out of your complete stupor and you looked around, confused. You didn’t _care_ , exactly, but—but who was yelling?

But then you suddenly _did_ care, and you found yourself mortified to be on your knees in front of Crabbe, and you knew the yells behind you were Terry’s. You only had half a second to register that the Imperius Curse had been lifted before Crabbe pointed his wand at your chest and hissed, “ _Crucio_.”

It was—

Pain beyond imagining. 

The feeling of being flattened, your limbs pulled, every nerve set on fire, your nerves fraying and coming apart and tears blinding your vision until you could see nothing, until your eyes were squeezed shut and there was only the black behind your eyelids and the searing, agonizing, excruciating pain—

It stopped. Your face was wet with tears, and you were found that you were flat on your back on the floor. Someone was saying your name. A male voice. Terry, you thought. You were shaking uncontrollably.

“My turn,” snarled a female voice suddenly, and then it happened again without warning.

This time it was like being flayed with a thousand knives, all at once. The skin being peeled slowly back. Acid being dripped onto the raw flesh left in its place. Alecto was more creative than Crabbe, that much was certain. There were deep punctures gouging every inch of your skin, too, knife points being driven in and twisted, and it was like it went on forever and ever. You heard yourself begging after—you weren’t sure how long. But it was like an eternity.

When it was over, you felt your stomach heave.

Thankfully, nothing came out, but the dry heaving burned your throat and made your eyes burn. Every muscle was trembling in your body, and you knew without a shadow of a doubt that you wouldn’t be able to stand.

“Get up,” said Alecto, as if knowing you had just been doubting your ability to do so.

You attempted to get to your feet and just collapsed back to the ground with a little whimper. Alecto just laughed.

Everything was shaking. Even your insides were vibrating. All your organs. It was the most uncomfortable and terrifying thing you’d ever experienced. Trying to stand had given you vertigo. You couldn’t see clearly and your stomach was rolling.

_Side effects_ , you thought numbly, wheezing a little in pain, attempting to curl up in a little ball.

But a kick was aimed at your back, and you cried out. “Stupid bitch,” snarled Crabbe. “Nearly killed me, didn’t ya? With your little trick.”

“For fuck’s sake, Crabbe,” said Pansy Parkinson very suddenly. “Control yourself.”

“He’s got the idea better than you, Parkinson,” said Amycus Carrow, nasty as always. “Dismissed.”

Hands were suddenly helping you walk. They were basically carrying you.

You felt too dizzy to really register who.

You got two corridors away before you were pulled into a tapestry. Gratefulness swelled in you that you had been pulled out of the public corridor, because you promptly fell to your knees and threw up. It was mostly bile. You had barely eaten that day, too anxious in anticipation of the prefect meeting. That meant it hurt badly coming up, burning your throat and your mouth. The sick was vanished almost immediately, and a glass of water made its way into your blurry vision.

“Drink,” said Terry’s voice, softly, hands running soothingly up and down your back. “It’s going to be all right, Y/N. It will feel better. The first time is really hard.”

The tapestry suddenly fluttered open. “Y/N.” Draco’s voice was strained.

“I’ve got it, Malfoy.” Terry’s voice had become icy.

Draco seemed to pay him no mind, because you felt him kneel by you momentarily and touch your shoulder. Perhaps you were hallucinating this entire thing. Everything was shimmering and felt very strange and surreal right now. Every muscle in your body ached. Maybe this was similar to a fever dream, and your brain had conjured Draco because you wished he was there.

Every muscle was exhausted and trembling. Instead of attempting to hold yourself up you collapsed into Terry’s arms, just in case Draco was a figment of your hopeful imagination. You felt Terry’s arms tighten and draw you closer, and you peeked out, toward the direction you had heard Draco’s voice.

He _looked_ like he was there, but he was also really shimmering. Very blurry. It could very well be a hallucination. “Are you real?” you choked out.

His face flickered.

“Yes, Y/N,” he said quietly. “I’m here.” His eyes moved over your shoulder. He looked pained, and he was white with rage; and his voice sounded very strange. “Boot,” he muttered reluctantly, “Thank you. If you hadn’t said something—I was a second away and you know that if I would have done that openly—”

“Yeah,” said Terry, cutting him off, voice also wavering a little. “Whatever, Malfoy.”

Draco’s cool hand reached out to gently touch your forehead. “Her temperature has shot up. Give her plenty of water,” Draco commanded. He sounded urgent. “She needs bed rest. She’ll vomit a few more times. Something to help the pain in her throat would be good. Her muscles will start to spasm in an hour or two. It will hurt. Massage the tremors out. And she should—”

“I’ve dealt with Cruciatus before.” Terry’s voice was sharp and dismissive.

There was another brief, tense silence. 

“Right.” Draco sounded irritable. But he sounded much gentler when he leaned forward to your ear, just briefly, to murmur, “I’m so sorry. Feel better.”

And then he was standing, you heard the tapestry move again, and he was gone.

* * *

After that, you didn’t interact with Draco for over a month.

You didn’t see him looking your way. You were right back to not existing.

Curiously, it was Pansy Parkinson who you caught gazing at you more than a few times. She would unashamedly stare at you, expression hard and calculating, before you hastily glanced away.

The month passed with classes and patrols, two Hogsmeade visits and prefect meetings and, of course, Dumbledore’s Army meetings. Rather than meddle with the first years’ paperwork for the upcoming deadline at the end of November, the underground group was doing everything it could to get Muggleborns to come to Dumbledore’s Army for protection. For a long time, the group had agonized over how to best protect them; the room seemed safe enough, and Neville knew how to properly ask the room for things, so the room began making a sort of dormitory.

The problem, of course, was that not all Muggleborns knew to trust Dumbledore’s Army or knew it existed at all, and getting the word out was not as easy as it might seem. Ginny and Neville, you knew, sneaked out at nights to spray paint the walls, but the Carrows and their minions were often good about getting it taken down, no matter how they tried to get the paint to stick permanently. There was also the added problem that they always knew exactly who it was and that Neville and Ginny were both being tortured and beaten to a pulp far too often to be sustainable.

Many first years also didn’t want to admit they were Muggleborn to anyone, even clear enemies of the Carrows like Neville or Ginny. The reasons for this were glaringly obvious; the environment of the castle and the entire Wizarding World, after all, was not a trustful one. And you couldn’t force students to come to you for help. But the end of November as the due date approached, many Muggleborns had slowly been moved into the Room of Requirement.

You could only hope that it was all of them.

As the disappearances went on, the Carrows steadily became more furious.

Additional security had been added all throughout Hogsmeade, as if they suspected that they were being evacuated out of the Wizarding village. 

As a result, the first Hogsmeade trip of December was rather more depressing than the last two in November, as there were actual Death Eaters—you assumed lower rank Death Eaters, not important enough to do the Dark Lord’s actual bidding and certainly not from the Inner Circle—prowled the streets, glaring menacingly at students and occasionally stopping them to search without warning.

As Christmas Break approached, everyone seemed anxious, despite getting to leave the castle. The D.A was waiting for news of the paperwork, if there had been Muggleborns left behind or caught or, horribly, killed. But nothing happened.

There was only normality and silence.

It was almost more disconcerting than knowing.

But there was another reason that you, personally, were anxious about the upcoming pause from school, and it had to do with Draco returning home. You remembered how _off_ his behavior had been at the beginning of the school year; something in his eyes, perhaps, or the way he had held himself. That had been after two whole months at his Manor. And you longed to go talk with him about it, but he still didn’t look your direction or indicate he wanted to communicate at all, so you were uncertain whether or not you should approach him.

Perhaps he wouldn’t want a reminder of the horrors that awaited him anyway.

Perhaps your fear and concern would only make him feel worse.

* * *

Two days before Christmas Break, Draco was heading back to Head Tower from an evening of patrols when a voice called his name from behind him in the corridor.

“Malfoy.”

It was one of the worst voices to hear—that of Amycus Carrow.

The Death Eater came stalking toward Draco where he stood, now paused, in the corridor, throwing him a vicious leer. “There you are. Come with me. Now.”

Amycus was angry. Draco could tell that much. He could not tell whether it was with him or not, but either way he knew that whatever was happening was likely going to make him lose his appetite for the remainder of the evening.

News from the Dark Lord, perhaps?

Or worse—something to do with punishment or detentions? 

The new security measures?

Draco only hoped it would be theoretical and not practical.

Alecto was in Amycus’ office too when they arrived, and she threw Draco a simpering smile. Her face promised something truly horrific. It made Draco’s heart begin to race and his palms cold, though he forced himself to appear outwardly calm and collected. Bored. Above it all.

“To think,” said Alecto softly and very dangerously, “That someone like you gets the honor of the Mark while my brother and I get denied.”

“Questioning the Dark Lord’s decisions, Alecto?” drawled Draco with a aristocratic little scoff, raising a disdainful eyebrow. “Perhaps you have your answer as to why you haven’t got a Mark, don’t you think?”

“You insolent little swine!” she shrieked, pulling out her wand. Draco drew his in response, but Amycus stepped in front of Alecto, lowering his sister’s wand.

“Patience, sister,” he said quietly.

Draco’s heart was hammering in his throat.

All his senses—everything he’d learned over a year in the presence of Death Eaters and the Dark Lord—were making him tingle. He was on high alert; mentally running through spells in his head; calculating time and distance to the nearest escape. But he was, of course, outnumbered.

Amycus suddenly pulled an envelope out of his robes and threw it on the desk in front of Draco. “What’s this, eh?”

Draco’s heart dropped like a stone, right into the pit of his stomach.

But he still kept his face neutral.

“I was not aware I had to help you read,” he sneered. “Can’t you see what it is?”

“Don’t you dare speak to us that way, you filthy blood traitor!” screamed Alecto, looking quite demented in her anger.

“It’s fake,” said Amycus, eyes flashing. “You did well, Malfoy, but we did better. Had the best document checker in the world come evaluate the little Firsties’ paperwork. Came from Prague. People are gettin’ right good at faking their paperwork, aren’t they? So we’re staying a step ahead. At the Ministry too. And he put them right in a potion he invented and it coughed up the fakes.” He pointed at it, crackling with electric anger. “Your ‘ _distant_ _cousin_ ‘s’ came right out. Explain.”

Draco paused half a second, thinking fast.

_Block, compartmentalize, don’t feel—_

“It’s clearly a mistake,” said Draco very coldly, attempting to exude confidence when he wanted to collapse to the floor—or perhaps sprint away. “Emma is a distant Malfoy. Perhaps you’re unaware…” He put a tinge of disdain in his voice. “Seeing as you aren’t Purebloods yourselves. But the Malfoys are an old family, originally French. Emma comes from a branch—”

“Enough,” snarled Alecto. “The potion didn’t lie. We all knew you were weak after your failure with Dumbledore, but to pretend that dirty little Mudblood animal is in your family tree? You betray your Mark!” She raised her wand a little higher, hand trembling, pointing it right at Draco’s heart.

Draco lifted his higher in response.

“The only acceptable use for the Mudbloods is as a plaything,” said Amycus. “And if she isn’t suited for that when she’s older, she’ll join our army of Inferi. You will be punished.” Suddenly, he cackled. “Now _and_ at home, Malfoy. You’ll have a right lovely holiday with the Dark Lord now, won’t ya?” he spat, grinning.

He waved his wand before Draco could blink; his own clattered to the floor, and he found himself bound with tight ropes, causing his knees to buckle and for him to fall with a crash. 

Draco groaned in pain and struggled to sit up just as the door burst open.

“ _Draco_!”

The frightened, familiar squeak of a voice made him go numb with terror.


	18. Seventeen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> language, (!!)descriptive torture and violence, medical stuff, blood, injuries, and the like, and a nice dash of angst for the cherry on top. this chapter is definitely dark and messed up so proceed with caution

Crabbe was entering the room, pulling Emma by the hair with a big, wolfish grin on his face. “Don’t hurt me!” Emma pleaded, sobbing uncontrollably. The sound cut through Draco like knives. “Don’t hurt Draco! I’m a Slytherin, I’m related to the Malfoys, please—”

“Shut up, Mudblood,” snapped Alecto, waving her wand. Emma continued to cry and speak and writhe around in Crabbe’s arms, but no sound came out.

“Well Malfoy,” said Amycus tauntingly. “What do you propose we do with the little creature, hmm?” He glided forward, catching Emma’s chin in his hand and roughly making her look up at him, her eyes wide and terrified and tears streaming down her cheeks.

Amycus tapped his wand on her cheekbone, laughing in pure delight at the way her eyes bulged out of her sockets in her panic.

“You insult my family, Halfblood,” Draco spat at Amycus, as harshly as possible and trying to keep his voice even and calm. “When the Dark Lord discovers—”

“You should be more concerned about what the Dark Lord will do with _you_ over break for your weakness,” taunted Alecto, sweeping forward. “And about your little ‘cousin’ here. Crucio!”

The curse was not directed at Draco, but at Emma.

At the beginning, everything was silent. She dropped from Crabbe’s arms and began to twitch and contort on the floor, but after a few seconds Alecto lazily waved her wand to remove the Silencing Charm so Draco could hear every single one of her shrill screams.

“Stop,” Draco found himself begging. “Please—please stop! Let her go, torture me instead—”

The Curse ended. Emma lay so still upon the floor that if Draco wouldn’t have seen her chest rising and falling just slightly, he’d fear she was dead. Draco didn’t think he’d ever been shaking so badly in his life. Emma began emitting dry, wracking sobs, but did not attempt to get up.

“Emma,” he said hoarsely. “Emma…”

“Crabbe,” said Amycus lazily, clearly enjoying himself. “Take her away now.”

“Where are you taking her?” demanded Draco, his voice rising to a shout as Crabbe yanked Emma to her feet. Her eyes were slightly unfocused, and she leaned over slightly to couch and retch; Draco knew this had to be her first Cruciatus.

And so young…done by Alecto…

“That shouldn’t concern you,” said Amycus. “But you’ll see her in a few moments.”

Crabbe took Emma’s arms and began to pull—she was scraping her heels across the ground, struggling again, but of course she was no match for Crabbe’s brute strength.

Emma’s terrified, puffy, and reddened eyes found Draco’s. “Draco!” she wheezed, trying to reach out for him. “Draco, help me! Please!”

“Emma,” he said again, voice cracking in his desperation as he started to struggle furiously with his bonds, the ropes cutting hard into his arms. “Emma, I'll—”

But he could not say anything more. Crabbe had pulled her quickly from the room and they were gone, leaving a long, horrible silence in their wake.

“What are you doing with her?” Draco was trembling like mad.

“Don’t worry about that Drakey boy,” said Alecto in that soft, dangerous voice of hers. “No softness toward the Mudblood, remember? It’s time for your punishment now.”

The next few minutes were a blur. He felt himself being levitated in the air, and then they were moving, and after a few moments they were in one of the dungeons—Filch’s office, Draco realized with a jolt—where he noted there was something horribly like blood stains on the floor as well as chains on the walls and hanging from the ceiling.

Emma was there too, being held by the hair by Crabbe. “Draco!” she was sobbing when she saw them coming in, until Alecto lazily cast the Silencio charm on her again.

The levitation charm ceased, dropping Draco roughly to the floor.

“We’ve been wanting to get your weakness out of you for quite some time, Drakey,” taunted Amycus, prowling Draco in a circle like some sort of animal stalking prey.

Draco was still thinking wildly. He knew asking them to spare Emma in any way would only make things worse for her; would only anger them. He had to play this correctly. Carefully. Act indifferent. Maybe it could be one less person that he would hear screaming in his nightmares.

“Well then,” said Amycus, rubbing his hands together with a little grin. “Filch will be here any moment for Malfoy’s punishment—seeing as he has such a weakness for Mudbloods, we’ll have the Squib punish him without magic, shall we?”

He and Alecto shared a truly gleeful and evil look.

Draco could still feel how he was shaking, but he just kept his eyes narrowed at the Carrows.

“And the Mudblood can watch,” said Alecto, throwing a glance over at Crabbe and Emma. “You keep her head up and make sure she sees every bit, Crabbe.”

“Yes ma’am,” grunted Crabbe, pulling Emma’s hair harder. Tears streamed down her cheeks.

Filch came shuffling in the room then, with a grin very similar to the one the Carrows were wearing. His eyes moved to Draco there on the floor, and it widened. Draco began to very much regret all the times he had called Filch a dirty Squib, but there was nothing to be done about it now. Whatever was going to happen was going to be horrific no matter what.

Between Filch and Alecto they were able to hoist Draco up, and though they unbound the ropes around his arms, it was only, to his horror, to shackle his wrists to some of the chains hanging from the ceiling. As soon as he was secure, they unbound his knees, and then he began to hear the horrible, shrill screams coming from behind him as they hit Emma with Cruciatus again.

Draco couldn’t help it. “STOP!” he shouted roughly, twisting about in the chains, chaffing his wrists. “She’s just a child, _stop_ —”

“She’s an animal, boy,” snarled Alecto, but she stopped pointing her wand at Emma and came around to stand in front of Draco instead, smiling.

Draco was very aware of Emma’s wheezing sobs coming from behind him.

“I’ve kept it well oiled,” said Filch, shuffling around to smile at Draco. Draco wanted to spit in his face, but his throat had gone suddenly very dry at seeing the whip that Filch was holding. Emma began to sob harder behind him, horrible, wretched sobs, which mixed sickeningly with Alecto’s delighted laughs. “Been wanting to do this for years to you, boy,” muttered Filch, an excited light in his eyes. _The sick fucking Squib_ , Draco thought desperately, beginning to struggle harder and feeling his heart rate increase from the burst of fear and adrenaline that shot through him. _He’d make a great fucking Death Eater if he had a drop of magic in his disgusting, greasy little body…_

His struggling, of course, was useless. He could move his legs and he could take steps on his tiptoes, but his arms were trapped in the chains and he was just dangling there like some sick sort of chandelier. He heard Filch’s voice behind him now, speaking over the crying still coming from behind them. “How many am I allowed to give him, miss?”

“Hmm,” said Alecto, coming around to stand in front of Draco with a sick, twisted grin on her face. “Let’s say…ten. Then maybe little Drakey will remember what that Dark Mark on his arm means.”

Strangely, Draco felt relieved. And suddenly very defiant.

He wouldn’t scream. No. He wouldn’t.

_Only_ _ten_ , he thought numbly. _Ten_ _isn’t so bad…_

He was, unfortunately, very wrong about that.

As soon as the first lash came, striking his back with a force and pain more powerful than he had ever imagined without magic, he opened his mouth and gasped out involuntarily, slumping so hard and pulling against the chains that it rubbed his wrists raw. The pain was positively _blinding_ ; his back was on fire, and he had _no_ _idea_ how he was going to survive another, much less ten…

“Hold on,” said Alecto, who sounded positively delighted, and though Draco had his eyes closed he could hear that she was behind him. “The shirt acts as a bit of a cushion. Can’t have that, can we? _Diffindo_!” He heard the fabric of his shirt ripping, and then it fell off of him, and then heard how Emma let out a strangled little gasp and began to cry harder. Draco just let out a little groan of pain, and he could hear the chain above him rattling in response to his shaking arms.

The second lash came, and this time he howled at the feeling of it digging into his skin, ripping off chunks so that each subsequent hit would be worse. Again and again it came, and by the time the fifth one lacerated him, he was beginning to feel delirious.

By number seven, he was begging brokenly for it to end, which only made Alecto laugh harder.

By the time it was finally over and they had released him from his chains, his legs collapsed from underneath him and he was wavering in and out of consciousness. It was a mixture of things that slipped into his awareness when he finally passed out.

Emma was desperately crying out his name as they carried her from the room—he tried to say something back to her, to reassure her somehow that he’d find her, but he couldn’t speak; hadn’t realized how hoarse his voice had become from the whipping.

There was Alecto and Amycus Carrow’s delighted laughter, and, of course, the horrible, unthinkable pain that accompanied his back having been turned to raw flesh.

The black finally crept in completely and he fell unconscious.

* * *

You wished you could say that even after a month and a half of reasonable distance save for a few interactions, you were not as aware of Draco Malfoy.

This was not the case.

So when he was conspicuously absent for an entire day, the day before break—from all meals, from corridors, and from any classes, as far as you could tell—you noticed.

And you worried.

It did not help that Pansy looked rather subdued and much paler than usual when you searched her out and caught sight of her at lunch.

By evening, you were almost certain something had happened to Draco. This only got worse when Neville found you and Hannah in the library, where you, at least, hadn’t been concentrating at all and had been reading the same line for what felt like the past hour.

Neville’s eyes had a glint in them that you recognized as foretelling something very ominous; something you already somehow knew was connected with Draco’s sudden disappearance.

Neville gestured you both out to the courtyard, where he spoke in a low, anxious murmur, eyes darting about to make sure no one was nearby. “Some first years have been…taken.”

“Taken?” said Hannah, alarmed, as a horrible churning entered your stomach. “What do you mean?”

“The Carrows have them locked up in a dungeon. Muggleborns. Four of them. They tried to forge their paperwork and were caught. No idea what they’re planning, but I’m staying behind over Christmas to try and get them out. If too many of us stay it will be suspicious, but Ginny is staying and I hope a few others. Just wanted to keep you two posted, don’t feel that you need to stay.”

“I’ll stay,” you said immediately. It would be better than sitting at home and worrying about Draco all break, and now the children as well.

At least you’d have something to do.

“Me too,” said Hannah, nodding.

Neville gave you small smiles. “Okay. Meeting in a few hours, eleven o’ clock. We’ll go over what we know and try to make some plans.”

Feeling jittery, you made an excuse to Hannah and, hand carefully on your wand in your pocket and ever watchful for Crabbe prowling the corridors, you made your way straight to the Hospital Wing, praying that Draco was there and only had something normal, like a cold.

If not, you’d have to find Pansy Parkinson, which you really, really didn’t want to have to do.

When you made it without incident and knocked on the door to the infirmary, Madame Pomfrey opened it, looking ruffled. “Yes?” she said testily.

“Is Draco Malfoy here?”

Her eyes narrowed a little. “No.”

You forced yourself to swallow. “Okay. Thank you.”

_Son of a fucking bitch_ , you thought wryly as you thought of tracking down Pansy and how fun that conversation would be, and wondering if it would be best to go up to Head Tower.

Draco had given you the password to the portrait as you’d left, those many weeks ago.

“Just in case,” he’d murmured, looking at you carefully. “If there’s an emergency.”

Was this an emergency? Were you just panicking because you were feeling antsy before break and because of the news of the children? He _could_ just have a cold. He _could_ have just skipped classes. He (and not to mention Pansy) could be very irritated with you for just barging in to Head Tower.

And worse, what if you barged into something you really didn’t want to see?

And so you decided to scour the castle for Pansy first, even if that was probably inadvisable with Crabbe and other Carrow minions on the loose. But you didn’t run into anyone.

Unfortunately, that meant you didn’t run into Pansy either.

The more you searched, the more you worked yourself up.

Finally, gritting your teeth, you gave up and hurried up to Head Tower, hovering outside the portrait uncertainly for a few moments and hoping someone would come out. You were just about to sigh and mutter the password when you heard footsteps behind you.

Whipping around, you saw that it was Pansy, and that she was carrying a bag over her shoulder that clinked as it tapped her side, clearly full of vials.

Her eyes were guarded. “What are you doing here?” she asked, voice rough.

“Draco wasn’t in class today,” you said immediately, scanning her face. She looked exhausted. “Is he sick? And Neville told me something happened with first years…”

Pansy took a few steps closer, watching you now very carefully and hoisting her bag higher on her shoulder. “He’s not sick.” But there was something in her eyes that made you very nervous.

You didn’t have patience for her games at the moment. “But something is wrong with him, isn’t there?” you asked fiercely. “Parkinson, tell me right now! Is he in Head Tower? Is he all right?”

Something curious flickered in her eyes, but it was gone before you could detect what it was.

“Not particularly,” she said brusquely. She sighed, shooting you an irritable look. “Come in, then. I just hope you have a strong stomach.”

You weren’t sure, considering the horrible twist it did at her words, but you followed her anyway.

She stepped forward and murmured the password, and immediately, you clambered into the portrait hole after her and spotted Draco’s blonde head. There were a few details that you noticed right away: he was lying on the couch, face down; he was also shirtless, and his back was—

“Oh my god,” you whispered, seeing the telltale flash of red even from here and rushing forward.

When you neared his side, your knees almost gave way and you couldn’t contain a gasp.

His back was covered in deep, horrible looking lashes, and they were _deep_. Angry scarlet colors.

Someone had whipped him.

“Shut up,” whispered Pansy furiously. “You’ll wake him.”

You covered your mouth in horror, feeling tears well up in your eyes as Pansy put the bag on the table and began unpacking vials of various potions and salves. “I—how did this— _why_?”

“Y/N?” Draco’s voice was a weak rasp.

“Draco,” you choked, “You’re awake!” His head was turned to the side so you only saw half his face and one eye open, looking at you. Kneeling down beside his head, you desperately searched his face. He was so, so _pale_ , and he still had bags under his eyes, like he wasn’t sleeping. It had been a long time since you’d been this close to him. Biting your lip and letting out a shuddering little sob, you carefully smoothed his hair back a little. He closed his eyes at your touch, brow scrunched.

And then he smiled humorlessly. “Unfortunately.”

“Well done,” said Pansy, acid in her voice.

“I was already awake when you came in, Pans,” muttered Draco, sounding tired. “Lay off.”

She sniffed and chose to ignore this. “Here.” You both helped him sit up to drink some Pain Potion; each wince that went across his face as he moved made you want to cry. When that was done and he was lying down again, Pansy stood and said, “I finally could make that paste we talked about, Draco.” And then she looked at you. “It’s actually good you’re here. You can help hold him down.”

You stared at her. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Are you deaf?” she asked nastily. “I have to put something in his lashes for infection. It is going to sting and be very unpleasant. So you can help hold him down.”

Nervously, you glanced at Draco, whose face had taken on an ashen hue.

You wanted to beg Pansy not to make you do this. You wanted to cry.

Instead, you just nodded stiffly and watched as she began to sprinkle bits of a plant into a little bowl of water, brow furrowed. To your surprise, the consistency changed completely. It was no longer watery, but instead began to rapidly turn into a thick paste before your eyes.

“How do you know how to do all of this?” you asked her.

She looked up, sharply. “I know everyone assumes I’m stupid, but I’m actually quite smart.”

You bit back a harsh response about her laughing at you in class because of your poor magic over the years and how she probably assumed _you_ were stupid, but it really wasn’t the time for such things. So instead you said, quite honestly, “I don’t think you’re stupid. Just mean.”

She barked out a sardonic little laugh. But then she dipped the washcloth into the paste and pulled it out before looking at you with her jaw set. You heard a slight waver in her voice when she addressed both of you. “Ready?”

You decided not to tell her that you would never be ready, and really, you wanted to throw up because this Healing business was nothing for you; but you just nodded again, reaching down to delicately place your hands on Draco’s forearms, far from his injuries.

“As I’ll ever be,” answered Draco faintly, meeting your eyes with a resigned expression.

“It’s all right,” you whispered, squeezing his arms gently, hoping you looked reassuring.

He just stared at you for a moment, eyes flickering, as Pansy reached forward and placed the washcloth on the rawest part of his back.

The effect was immediate; there was a loud hissing sound coming from his injuries, rather like venom was being sucked out. A terrible strangled sound came from Draco’s mouth and he pressed his face into the pillow. There was a split second where you hovered there, terrified, before he began to emit muffled yells and squirm about on the couch.

Tears spilling down your cheeks now, you gripped his arms as hard as you could, but you couldn’t quite stop the twisting movements he was making with his body.

“Hold him still!” Pansy snarled, after dipping the washcloth again and trying to dab it on other parts of his back. You nearly passed out when you saw her hands were already covered in blood.

“I’m _trying_!” you screeched, holding tighter. His head was turned to the side again but his eyes were squeezed shut. His features were also contorted in pain, and it made your chest ache. “It’s all right, Draco,” you choked urgently, rubbing soothing patterns on his arms as you clutched at them. “It’ll be over soon…I promise…and then it will feel so much better…”

He just let out a little moan, and then another strangled yell that set all your nerves on edge when Pansy pressed the washcloth on him again, her teeth bared and jaw clenched.

“It’s okay,” you whispered to him, running a hand quickly through his hair, tears flowing freely down your cheeks now. “Just a few more, Draco…just a little bit more…”

Pansy dipped the washcloth and used it on his back twice more before she seemed to deem it satisfactory, and you wanted to slump forward in relief. His cries of pain had been making your chest tight, but then he began to let out strangled whimpers when she was done that were somehow worse. “More potion,” said Pansy quickly. “Here, let’s sit him up so he can drink it. Hurry.”

It was difficult to do so when tears were making your vision blurry and when every little movement was causing Draco to let out sounds of agony, but the two of you got him up and Pansy was able to get some of the potion down his throat, even if he sputtered and coughed half of it up on the first try. When he was finally lying on his stomach again, you saw that he was shaking.

Unable to help yourself, you knelt again and moved your hand through his hair, before taking note that Pansy’s eyes were on you and glancing up to meet her eyes. She was gazing at you with that same curious expression as in the corridor, but then she looked away and whipped out her wand.

She immediately began murmuring things over his back, waving her wand in smooth, circular motions. You didn’t care if Pansy was here. You took his cheeks in your hands and whispered, “It will feel much better soon, Draco. It’s almost done now…”

He just nodded furiously, burying his face into the pillow again.

“Little help?” Pansy finally asked, sounding grim and holding out her bloody palms to you.

Your stomach rolled, but you swallowed down the sudden nausea and nodded, drawing your wand and muttering, “ _Scour_ _g_ _ify_ ,” to siphon Draco’s blood off of her hands until they were sparkling clean. You gathered the courage to peek at his back.

It was certainly much cleaner. Less red. It also made each deep gash more obvious, standing out against his pale skin. You counted ten. But whatever Pansy Parkinson had done was truly magical, and for a long time it was just silent as the two of you sat there and observed him.

“Draco?” Pansy asked. Her voice was the gentlest you’d ever heard it. “How are you?”

“M’fine,” he mumbled, hoarsely. “Already feels…better.”

“Good. I’ll leave you to your visit,” said Pansy, throwing you a look that was distinctly less unfriendly than usual. “I’ll be upstairs if you need me. I’ll be back down in ten minutes.”

When she was gone, he turned his head on the pillow so that he could look at you again.

“What happened?” you whispered, voice shaking.

For a moment pure agony crossed Draco’s his face, and his eyes squeezed shut. "Y/N, I—” He broke off for a moment, sounding strangled. And then his eyes flew open again, and he looked and sounded furious. “I promised her I wouldn’t let anything happen to her. Emma.”

Your eyes filled with tears and your lips trembled. “What? E-Emma?”

"Yes,” said Draco hoarsely. “She’s Muggleborn.”

You sat there for a moment, very stunned.

A Muggleborn in _Slytherin_.

And Draco had known. Draco _cared_ about her, regardless of her blood—

“How long have you known she was Muggleborn?” you whispered.

“Since I met her,” he mumbled, closing his eyes in agitation.

You automatically reached for his face, desperately smoothing his hair again, trying to sound confident and calm. "Neville told me some first years had disappeared just before I came here. He said there’s no evidence they’re being hurt or tortured. And we’ll get her out, all right? Some of us are staying over break to try and get them out, so—”

His eyes flew open again.

“What!?” Draco sounded alarmed, and he started to sit up slightly before groaning in pain and slumping down again. “No. Don’t. Don’t do that. They’ve put security spells on the dungeon, Y/N. Anyone who goes in or out of that the room will be blown to bits when they step through the doorway. They showed it to Pansy. Food is pushed in through the door. Even the Carrows don’t go in. Don’t you dare try it. And don’t let your idiot friends try it either!”

He sounded so agitated that you started petting his hair faster. “Shh. All right, Draco. It’s okay.”

“Y/N, don’t you fucking soothe me by saying okay then doing it anyway,” he growled. “You think I like that I have to go home tomorrow and just leave her in there for two weeks? Do not add you blowing yourself up to the list of my concerns. Please.”

“All right. I promise. Really.” Your voice wavered again. “So why were you whipped?”

His eyes flashed with fury before going full of despair. “I forged a document. For Emma. Made it look like she was a distant cousin, descended from a Malfoy family in France. I tried—I did it really well. I swear I did. And I thought the different country might help as well, would make the paperwork easier to believe and harder to check. But the Carrows…they found someone special. He invented a potion. They caught me. They—they _tortured_ her.” He sounded horrified.

The distress in his voice automatically made you edge closer to the couch on your knees so you could touch your forehead to his. “But—but—” You felt nearly hysterical. “If you were caught shielding a Muggleborn…Draco, what will happen to you? At—at home?”

There was a pause. When he spoke, his voice was shaking. “I’ll be punished.”

“ _No_ ,” you said fiercely, pulling back to glare at him. “ _Please_ don’t. _Stay_. What if they kill you?”

"S'okay,” he mumbled. “The chances of that are extremely low. Less than 1%.” He gave you a humorless smile. “They need me, Y/N. For ten more years at least. I’m a young, fertile Pureblood, and the magical population is low. Especially with all the fighting.”

He sounded bitter and resigned.

This only made you cry harder and take his face in your hands.

It was quiet again for a long moment except for your sobs.

“Y/N,” he said finally, quietly. “Will you promise to try and check on her over break? Without compromising your safety. Don’t try to go in. Just maybe see if you can…find out how she is.”

“Of course I will,” you said, voice thick and taking a moment to wipe your eyes on your sleeves.

“Thank you,” he breathed, slumping a little bit forward onto his pillows again.

You moved a thumb gently across one of his cheekbone, heart in your throat.

“Draco,” you said, voice trembling with terrified resolve, “I lo—”

“Stop.” His voice had become harsh. He jerked away from your touch and determinedly didn’t look at you, glaring at the fireplace instead. “ _Don’t_. We’ve talked about this, Y/N. You know I don’t want you like that. I’ve told you that twice now. You wanted it over, and now I want it to be over. Save yourself the trouble. Spend your time on an interested bloke. Like Boot.”

He sounded so angry. You saw his back move as he heaved a deep sigh.

You just sat there, face in flames and feeling quite possibly the most mortified you ever had.

The shocked silence stretched on and on.

You had almost forgotten how quickly he could shut you out. His coldness.

“R—right,” you whispered, trying not to sound devastated. It probably didn’t work very well when you were crying as hard as you were, but you couldn’t stop. “Um. Then I’ll…I should….go. I just wanted to—to check on you. I’ll try to look after the children. And please just…come back.”

“I’ll do what I can.” His voice was dead. His eyes were expressionless.

Pansy Parkinson’s steps suddenly sounded on the staircase, and she was standing in the archway, eyes carefully flicking over the two of you and lingering especially long on your face. You wished it wasn’t so obvious that you were crying, but the tears were falling thick and fast.

“Right. Well—goodnight, Draco,” you said, standing up and stepping away.

“Goodnight. Be _careful_.” His voice had a bit more life in it; he was looking up at you again.

“You too,” you mumbled, hardly able to look at him and certainly not looking at Pansy.

You all but ran out of the the room, furiously wiping your face with your sleeves.

* * *

Much as you’d still have liked to see him off the next day and say goodbye, or even just get one last glimpse of him as he left for the train with most of the other students in the castle, you stayed away.

You lay in your dorm room and stared at the ceiling and didn’t get out of bed until noon, and then you took a shower to try and wash some of the puffiness away from your eyes.

It was going to be a long break.


	19. Eighteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all! Thank you for your patience with me uploading this chapter. I went on a social media detox and did not log in for weeks (it may have been well over a month?). I wasn't writing either. I had a bit of a burn out, but I'm feeling much better and back to post things! I will slowly be making my way through inbox replies, it's a jungle in there, so for now please know that if you have commented I have read it and I love you. Thank you so much to everyone here, I am so grateful for you, and I hope you will enjoy the continued story :)
> 
> Chapter warnings (at the beginning because there is heavier stuff, so please read if needed): alcohol, allusions to non-con (sort of? not directly but putting this to be extra safe), and a fucked up dystopian society and unsavory plans in said society regarding slavery and reproduction, sexual themes; also, mentions of torture

It felt like you couldn’t stop crying that whole first day.

Rather than do so in your dormitory where someone could knock on your door, or anywhere near the Hufflepuff Common Room, you tried to escape to your alcove at random intervals throughout the day. Sometimes you didn’t make it and you sank to the ground in some secluded corner.

The longest you made it without tears was the few hours for the second DA meeting in two days. They were going to occur daily now as the group tried to research and determine how to break out the first years. The Carrows had not been seen since the Hogwarts Express had left that morning.

After the meeting, however, you tried again to find refuge in your alcove and failed to make it far enough. Your vision was too blurry and so you sank down in some deserted corridor, where you were secluded enough that no one would accidentally stumble across you.

Or so you thought.

Though perhaps this was no accident.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” snarled a very unfriendly feminine voice, and you looked up vaguely, startled, to see a pair of black stilettos that could easily pierce a hole through a human throat.

As your eyes traveled upward, you realized that you were looking at Pansy Parkinson.

“Go away,” you mumbled, though with no small amount of venom.

“If you want to be left alone while you blubber, you should have gone somewhere private,” she said cruelly. She leaned down and wrapped her hand with perfectly manicured fingers—you wondered how she even had _time_ for shit like that nowadays—around your arm and yanked you to your feet.

“Ouch!” You were so angry that you had stopped crying. “You _bitch—_ ”

“Shut up,” she snapped, and dragged you after her, her steps quick and purposeful. She was nearly pulling your arm out of your socket because you were attempting to rip yourself away.

“Let me go, Parkinson!”

“No.”

This went on for a quite a while. She led you all the way up to Head Tower, with you protesting and struggling almost the entire way. But she was relentless, and abnormally strong. She was also sure to tell you, multiple times, what a stupid, difficult bitch you were being and to shut up.

Pansy muttered the password and pulled you inside, waved her wand at the door, and then stepped between you and the exit, folding her arms.

“Sit down,” she commanded, gesturing to the couch.

You turned to face her, eyes blazing and hand twitching toward your wand.

Her eyes caught the movement, and she rolled them so hard that it looked almost painful. “Don’t be dramatic. If you try to hex me I promise that you will be very sorry. Just sit the fuck _down_.” Her face was hard and unforgiving, and she arched an expectant eyebrow.

“I’m not sitting. I’m leaving.” You made to step to the door, but she pointed her wand at you.

“You are not. You are going to sit on that fucking couch and you are going to drink some fucking alcohol, because your moping about the castle is driving me batshit crazy.” She smirked, eyes glittering maliciously. “ _A_ _nd_ you’re an uptight bitch and you could use some relaxation.”

“I don’t drink,” you replied roughly.

“You do now.”

Lip curling, you threw her the dirtiest glare you could manage and stalked past her and to the door. You half expected her to shoot a spell at you, but nothing came. When you jiggled the door handle, nothing happened. With an irritated huff, you pulled out your wand. “ _Aloh_ _o_ _mora_.”

The light blazed out of your wand and you tried the door again. Still nothing.

You whirled around. “Open the door.”

“No,” said Pansy.

God, you wanted to hex her. Or launch forward and just attack her.

“What’s the counter curse for your locking spell?” you pressed, voice shaking with suppressed rage.

“It’s a secret.” She smirked again, clearly amused with your anger, and the expression was so Draco-like that for a moment your heart physically ached.

“Now stop delaying the inevitable,” said Pansy, sweeping over to the kitchenette and pulling a bottle with clear liquid and some shot glasses out from the cupboard and slamming them down on the table. She pointed at the couch. “Like I said, you could use a bloody drink.”

You eyed the alcohol suspiciously, and then shot her a defiant look, lips pursed.

Again, she rolled her eyes so far back that you thought they might get stuck there. “Seriously?” she said. “You think I’m going to poison you or something?”

“Venom certainly seems like your kind of weapon.”

“You’re fucking insufferable.” She took the bottle and poured herself a shot, raised it to you with a challenging, sarcastic smile, and drank it. “There. Happy?”

“You’re weakening me,” you said. “And when we leave you’ll turn me in, or something heinous.”

“No, you paranoid cunt,” she said. “But you’ll just have to take my word on that one.”

You stiffened. “Don’t call me that.”

She laughed. “What? _Cunt_? Honey, if that word offends you, then I have very bad news for you: I use it a lot. And there are much worse things happening around you, and those things are far more worth getting your little Puff panties in a bunch over than a stupid word.”

“Don’t condescend me either, Parkinson.” You were grinding your teeth so hard you thought they might snap and were also reconsidering your earlier idea of launching yourself at her and fighting with her the Muggle way. Maybe you would have an advantage because of your background. Then again, those nails of hers looked positively lethal, as did the stupid stilettos.

She just pointed at the alcohol. “The longer you act like a cunt, the longer you’re here with me.”

Scowling furiously, you swept over to the couch and sat, and she threw you a vicious smile. “Very good. Now here.” She poured a shot and pushed it across the table at you.

You gazed at it, puckering your mouth in distaste.

And then, with a deep sigh, you lifted it to your lips and took it back.

It tasted terrible.

You coughed and sputtered but kept it down, and you welcomed the burn in your chest. Anything was better than the burn of agony you felt when you thought of Draco at home, or looked at Pansy and remembered her kissing him, or the still lingering pain of Susan, or the ball of anger that you felt pulsing there at the way that Pansy was treating you.

She poured two more shots and, raising hers to you, she waited. You were too numb and surprised to complain or do anything other than raise yours back at her, and you both took the second one together. Again, you shuddered at the bitter taste.

Her mouth curled up a bit at the edges. “This is really your first time with alcohol?”

“Yes,” you muttered, staring at the table.

“Not bad,” she said, and when you looked up you saw that she was smiling. It was small, but it wasn’t a cruel smile. And just like with Draco, you noticed that when Pansy Parkinson was actually smiling it was really quite kind. And then she set her shot glass on the table and leaned forward, looking at you very intently. Her dark eyes glittered again. “So. Here we are once more.”

She poured yet another pair of shots, and you felt your throat tighten as she passed yours over, unwilling to look up at her but feeling her stare on you all the same.

“Here we are,” you agreed, rolling your eyes.

“I appreciate you following my advice,” said Pansy, raising another shot glass to you.

Bitterly, you drank it with her. “Don’t flatter yourself, Parkinson. I was planning on keeping my distance anyway. And he said that’s what he wanted, too. To stay monogamous.”

Pansy just rolled her eyes. “You’re really fucking daft, aren’t you?”

“No,” you said, bristling. “Fuck you.”

“You’ve got a bit of a temper on you,” she commented, rather approvingly. “I’ve noticed that a few times now. Good to know. I think I’m beginning to understand the appeal.”

It was quiet for a moment as she poured a fourth shot and you both took them. Your head was starting to feel very light and warm.

Finally, you asked her, “How did you know it was me? Last year?”

“Oh, please. It was painfully obvious.” And then she shot you an incredibly displeased look. “You’ve really done a number on him, you know that? That’s the main reason I hated you. You shattered him, left him all alone, and then flounced around snogging others in corridors. The worst part was watching him try to carry on like it didn’t bother him.”

You just gaped at her. Part of you felt incredibly guilty and the other wanted to scream at her, but instead you just got out, “But…but this year the two of you…”

She laughed. “No,” she said.

“But—”

“Oh, we _were_ together,” she confirmed, nodding. “A long while ago. On and off through fourth and fifth year. But Draco never had _real_ interest in me, I think. It was always just an expectation for him from our families and a one-sided infatuation for me. But by sometime in fifth year I had moved on from my stupid infatuation with him…and moved under others.” She grinned very mischievously and began to pour shots number five while you blinked at her crudeness.

She raised the shot and, definitely feeling very numb now, you copied her in taking it, because you didn’t know what else to do. Finally, you said, “But he told me he was with you.”

Your words had begun to slur. Huh. You blinked sluggishly.

Pansy snorted. “ _Did_ he? He _directly_ told you that he was in a _real_ relationship with me? Or did he use other wording, perhaps? More vague and slippery? Draco does that, have you noticed?”

“He said you’re his future. And you kissed on Halloween!” you said, eyes suddenly blazing. “Don’t make me out to be the mean one hurting him. He told me he didn’t want me multiple times.”

“Yes,” she said, mouth twitching. “Don’t be an idiot. He was lying. Well, not about the future part. That was Draco being the pessimist that he is.”

There was a long pause.

“Are you going to explain further?” you asked, irritated.

She looked extremely amused. “Would you like me to?”

“Yes,” you said shortly.

For the first time, Pansy’s voice wavered a little when she began speaking.

“After his obsession with killing Harry Potter is complete, the Dark Lord and his followers do mean to make our society more pure, but that doesn’t mean only getting rid of Mudbloods—” You made a furious little sound of protest at the word, and she pursed her lips; but to your surprise, she corrected herself. “ _Muggleborns_. Anyway, it isn’t the only thing they want to achieve—they want witches and wizards to come out of hiding. To rule over the Muggles. For that, we need numbers. Our population is low.” Her voice became thick with irony. “So it also means making more wonderful magical babies to increase our population, and the more pure the better, obviously.”

You were starting to feel very sick, but that didn’t stop you from taking the next shot. Something told you that you would want the alcohol to hear the rest of Pansy’s story.

“The Malfoys are not in good standing with the Dark Lord,” she continued, throwing you a meaningful look. “You know that, don’t you? The Death Eaters don’t respect them at all; the Dark Lord makes an example of them so others know what to expect when they displease him. But being close with me in public the year before coming of age implies that we will marry and have pure little children, which of course looks good to the regime for us both _and_ gives us Pureblood points. In fact, I’d wager that’s what will keep him alive over Christmas break.”

“Oh,” you whispered, definitely feeling very nauseous now. “So you’re just…sleeping together?”

The words were like dust in your mouth, heavy and horrible, and you didn’t actually really want the answer at all—likely wouldn’t have asked if it weren’t for all the bloody shots—but the invasive question had spilled out. You leaned back against the sofa and stared pensively at the ceiling, fascinated by the fact that it was suddenly swirling a little in your vision.

“No, you imbecile,” snapped Pansy, and you raised your head to look at her. “At least not yet. We don’t have feelings for each other, but if it comes to it, we will have to try to have a child, yes.”

“I’m—I’m sorry that everything is arranged that way,” you told her, actually meaning it, and not just for the sake of your own feelings on the matter.

With that, she threw back her head and laughed. “Oh honey,” she said, shaking her head. “I have the good deal here. What do you think will happen to _you_ in the Dark Lord’s new, wonderful world?”

A fresh wave of horror washed over you; you nearly threw up all the shots. Instead, you just choked on the sudden acidic taste that had entered your mouth, swallowing multiple times. “I—I—”

“I’ll save you the mystery,” said Pansy snidely. “Pureblood women are rare and valuable. We will not be _harmed_. Just arranged into marriages. Halfbloods like you are considered acceptable enough to produce children from Pureblood men. You’ll be given to one like a breeding mare. More a toy than us Pureblood women, but at least you must be kept physically healthy. For having children.”

Your eyes widened, and she pursed her lips. “Be thankful you’re a Halfblood. Muggles and Muggleborns will get far worse. They will just be killed off or made to be—”

“Playthings,” you finished in a whisper, leaning back against the couch and feeling faint. “I think…I shouldn’t have drank so much. I…might be sick.”

“You’re rather lucky,” said Pansy, her voice hard. “The Malfoys are the richest family there is. Once the school year is out and the adult Halfblood girls such as yourself are given to Purebloods, Draco undoubtedly has plans to secure you. He’d likely use his entire fortune if he had to. You had just better hope that the means of distributing the women is financial and not based on the Dark Lord’s favor, because, you know, Draco doesn’t excel there.”

“I—I don’t want to be bought,” you said, voice shrill and terrified and still a slur. Even if it was Draco—what a horrible life. Being his secondary baby maker next to Pansy. Being around Death Eaters all the time at his Manor, in a world with no hope. You shuddered.

“Better Draco than someone else, obviously,” said Pansy, glaring at you. “You’d have it better than most women of your blood status and probably even some Purebloods, depending on who they get married off to, so best stop your fucking whining. It doesn’t do anything.”

You swallowed hard again, trying to maintain control. “What did Draco tell you about me? You said he didn’t tell you it was _me_ last year, but…but what did he say?”

“Not much directly,” she said, looking very bitter. “Over the summer he told me that his Occulumency was suffering.” She poured another shot and passed it to you. “Which is surprising. Draco is an excellent Occulumens. He had a very—shall we say—rigorous training. His aunt Bellatrix, you’ve heard of her?”

You nodded mutely, feeling horrified again, and you both paused to take the shots Pansy had poured. “Yes, well,” continued Pansy, wiping her mouth and leaning back, “She isn’t a gentle teacher, to put it mildly. Draco learned Occulumency quickly and he learned well to avoid her punishments. He knows how to shove memories and thoughts deep down so the Dark Lord can’t find them. The Dark Lord couldn’t see his wavering, could he? His doubt at being a Death Eater? But then, over the summer, he told me that he had slipped. The Dark Lord had seen the briefest glimpse of a girl in his mind. No real details, so he told the Dark Lord that girl was me. Quite clever. Making it look like we’re furthering the Pureblood cause and also providing a cover.”

“A…cover?” Your brain was so slow. God, maybe she _was_ trying to weaken you. You squinted at her, but she was leaning against the couch she was sitting on, legs crossed daintily, entirely relaxed.

“Draco had already seen his mother used as bait, hadn’t he?” Pansy said, dark eyes flashing. “I don’t think he was willing to let that happen again. And you are so idiotically unaware and ungrateful for everything he does for you and _that_ , Y/N, is the second reason I despised you.”

She stood up suddenly, walking over to the kitchenette and taking a different bottle—a golden liquid this time—and began pouring two more shots, lips pursed.

“Any other reasons?” you asked faintly after a very long silence, feeling dizzy.

“Yes,” said Pansy bluntly. “I had my own relationship, and I got dumped. He wants nothing to do with me anymore because he thinks I really want Draco.” She raised her shot glass with a sarcastic smile, and for the first time you felt a wave of her consciousness. The alcohol must have been lowering your ability to block her, coupled with her emotions being particularly powerful.

She was feeling despair.

“Cheers,” was all Pansy said sardonically, her face showing nothing.

You took your shot as well, mind racing. “Why do you do it?” you mumbled.

“Because,” said Pansy, “Being married off to Draco is a far better alternative than any of the other Purebloods. The other option my _lovely_ parents were considering was Crabbe’s _father_ , who not only is about forty years older than me but also looks at me like I’m a piece of meat.” She wrinkled her nose. “Also, Draco is my childhood friend, and I love him like a brother.” She paused. “And, apparently, I am loyal to a fucking fault.” She leaned back a little, now observing you very closely. “But so are you, I suspect. Aren’t you? I can see I was wrong about you. I thought you had just tossed him aside. I thought you didn’t really care that much about him. Just fun and games.” She tapped her nose thoughtfully, smiling a little. “But no. You’re helpless for him, aren’t you?”

You weren’t sure if the heat on your face was from the shots or her words. Probably both. “Is it that obvious?” you muttered finally, avoiding her eyes.

“It’s become obvious to me,” she said, snickering. “Though Draco seems determined to keep you both pining. God, it’s gotten so annoying. The night you came to visit before break, after you left, he was in one of the foulest moods I’ve ever seen. I’d assume, judging by his temper and all your waterworks and moping about today that you were probably feeling all _affectionate_ and worked up because of his injuries and tried to show it, didn’t you?”

You just gaped at her, mouth hanging open.

Pansy smirked. “Uh huh. Well, he was concerned about having memories in his head for Christmas break in particular. So I tried to warn you off back in November too. He, apparently, tries to stay away as well, though he seems spectacularly bad at it a lot of the time, doesn’t he? He managed it last night, even if it nearly killed him.” She laughed. “I personally think Draco is a massive idiot. I don’t see this doing anything. I don’t see the point in trying to keep this all from you any longer. At this point I just want him to have a small glimmer of happiness in his life, even if it means having _you_ around.” She shot you a look, poured two more shots, and suddenly laughed again. “He’s going to be positively livid with me that I told you all this.”

You suddenly got another wave of her consciousness. She was thinking about Draco, and it was tinged with a distinct taste of fear that made your heart race.

“That’s not the only reason though, is it?” you asked, before you could stop yourself.

She arched an eyebrow at you. “What?” she snapped.

How was she not slurring? She didn’t seem drunk in the slightest, while _you_ felt the room was spinning and you were going to tip off to the side at any moment.

You needed to lie down.

“I think you also brought me here because you’re afraid,” you said slowly. “He’s home, and you’re worried about him.” She blinked, and you were pleased to know that you had caught her by surprise. You could also see on her face that you were absolutely correct.

“You’re losing it, aren’t you?” you continued, rather triumphantly. “And you want to spend time with me because even though you don’t like me, you know I’m the only other person that knows how you feel. That loves him as much as you do, even if it’s a different sort of love.”

She stared at you for a long time. You thought for a second that she would shout at you, but then she just smiled very slowly. “Well,” she said, “Sometimes you can be clever, too, can’t you? I really am beginning to see the appeal, I think.” You took the next shot, though you were quite certain that you weren’t able to take another after this. The room was vibrating and your heart was hammering.

“So,” she said, eyes glittering, leaning back again. “Have you fucked him?”

“ _Excuse_ me?” you sputtered, eyes widening at her.

“Oh, come on,” she said, eyes glinting. “Don’t act so scandalized.”

“I thought he was with you all year,” you snapped. “What do you think?”

“Honorable,” she said, rolling her eyes. “But unnecessary.” She paused, another smile spreading across her face. “Is that a no? Even after all the time last year?”

“It’s a no,” you mumbled, somehow both amused at this woman who clearly had many faces that you had never seen before, and also irritated at the invasive nature of the conversation.

She let out a low whistle. “Really?” And then she laughed again, though it was much more like a giggle than her usual cruel sort of laugh, and when you looked at her again you realized that she was at least a little tipsy after all, and that her eyes were full of mischief. “I bet he wants to fuck you so badly that he’s half out of his goddamn mind.”

For some reason, your brief interaction with him on Halloween popped into your head.

You usually tried not to think about it much; but now you remembered his eyes dragging up and down the dress, quickly but not quick enough to escape your notice; and how they had briefly gone unfocused. Or his sense of desperation behind the tapestry.

You felt suddenly a whole lot warmer. It was not the alcohol.

“I think that’s crossing a line, Parkinson,” you said, avoiding her eyes.

“Oh, is it?” She still sounded amused. “Are you seriously trying to tell me you don’t want it?”

“Stop,” you muttered, face flaming.

“Yes, I thought so,” she said, sounding smug.

“I don’t want to talk about this,” you snapped. “Especially considering we might be… _sharing_ him in this horrific breeding scenario you were describing earlier.”

“Well, whatever,” she said, shrugging.

You blinked, and a lump grew in your throat, and suddenly the emotions were too powerful and the wall came crashing down. And Pansy Parkinson was thinking of something, very loudly, and you were seeing the flashes of it too, as if you had been there.

“ _Who is she?” Pansy was demanding, and you only heard her voice, seeing it from her eyes._

_Draco was across the room, staring hard at the carpet, his head slightly bowed and his hands stuffed into his pockets. His brow was furrowed deeply. It was a gigantic room, decorated classically, and there were objects in it you knew to be his. His bedroom at his home, perhaps. And the brilliant sunshine coming in through the room told you that it was summer._

“ _It doesn’t matter,” he said, very roughly._

“ _Doesn’t it?” asked Pansy. “If you’re asking me to cover a girlfriend—”_

“ _I’m not asking you to cover something ongoing,” said Draco, cutting her off. “Just to move on to a wonderful, pure future with me in public. It will help us both.” His voice was bitter and sarcastic._

“ _Oh.” Pansy was frowning, and her voice was suddenly softer. “You broke up?”_

“ _I had her,” he mumbled, more to himself than to Pansy, though when he looked up at her, his face was etched with sadness but his words sounded furious. “But then I didn’t. I should have seen it coming. I deserved it.”_

“ _I’m sure you didn’t,” she began in protest, but he drowned her words with his again._

“ _I did,” he said firmly, very decisively. His eyes had become blank and withdrawn. “But it’s…better like this. If she hadn’t ended it, I probably would have come to my senses and had to do it myself sometime this school year anyway. If she’s found in my mind by the Dark Lord…”_

A shrill voice yanked you back to the present moment.

“Where did you go?” asked Pansy suspiciously. “I lost you for a moment there.”

“Nowhere,” you said hoarsely, head spinning.

“You’re crying,” she noted, and you reached up to touch your face, and indeed you were.

“Oh,” you said, feeling strangely blank.

Pansy sighed, narrowing her eyes. “You were in my fucking head, weren’t you?”

“I usually can’t help it,” you told her defensively. “I don’t _try_ to hear people. Draco was the one who started teaching me how to block it with Occulumency. Last year. That’s also why I got better at magic. In class, you know. Not having everyone sort of—buzzing around in there all the time.”

“How tragic,” she drawled sarcastically, but you thought you saw her eyes glimmer a moment.

It was silent as you again turned your eyes to the ceiling. It was still swirling.

“We’re going to try to get those kids out,” you told her, not sure what was prompting you to do so. “Neville called another meeting for tomorrow. Draco mentioned there are protections on the dungeons, so we’re trying to research and find out what kind of spells we’re dealing with.”

“Draco is correct,” said Pansy, lips pursed. She flicked her wand and Summoned a third bottle of liquor; she held out a shot to you but you shook your head, feeling too queasy.

“Neville said there’s no evidence they’re being harmed. Not sure how he knows, but _—_ have you—you know. Heard anything? Do you know what the Carrows might be planning with them?” Your stomach was churning as you awaited her answer.

“Not much,” said Pansy. “I was shown the dungeon, but I can’t speak with them. The Carrows won’t trust me with much except bringing them meals.” She scowled. “I don’t know what they’re planning, but I’d guess it has to do with the belief that they steal magic. Maybe experiments of some kind. But the Carrows aren’t here tonight. I have no idea where they are or when they’ll be back, but it was certainly made clear that I am heavily responsible for delivering them their food over break. Maybe they won’t even come back at all.”

Your stomach lurched more violently, and you closed your eyes. “So we need to get them out immediately. If there’s security spells that incinerate or blow people up blocking the doors _—_ _”_

“Isn’t it obvious what the easiest way to do this is?” said Pansy, arching an eyebrow. “You have to Imperiuse the Carrows and have them lift the security measures.”

You just stared at her for a long moment. “That’san Unforgivable,” you said uncertainly.

Pansy’s voice was like ice. “Your point?”

She was right, of course. If it was between using an Unforgivable and letting the kids stay there, where harm could come to them at any moment, you were willing to dip into a moral gray area. In this situation, it felt right. You hoped the rest of Dumbledore’s Army would feel the same.

“I’ll _—_ mention it,” you said.

“Good luck,” said Pansy, snorting. “Lot of self-righteous people in that group of yours.”

For a moment, you just examined her as she poured herself yet another shot. You’d lost track of how many she’d had by this point, but it was a lot. Pansy Parkinson could clearly hold her liquor.

As you gazed at her, you tried to reconcile the fact that you… _trusted_ her.

The world was cruel _and_ strange.

“I think I should walk you back,” she said finally, getting unsteadily to her feet. “It’s getting late.”

“Right,” you muttered, getting up and also feeling very wobbly as you followed her.

You hardly spoke as she walked you back. It wasn’t until you were in your own bed _—_ lying there and staring at the ceiling and still feeling extremely drunk, mind buzzing with everything that you had learned _—_ that you suddenly had the rather baffling realization that the entire time Pansy had been talking about her reasons for disliking you, she had talked about it as if it were in the past.

* * *

It may have been the strangest break you’d ever had.

Christmas was a subdued affair, with less than twenty people present in the Great Hall.

The members of the DA that had remained behind met every single day to try and determine what curse the Carrows had put on the door, but it was possible it was something entirely new, because no one had found anything yet, and there was no way to risk getting out the first years without hurting them. You had, as you’d told Pansy, brought up the idea of the Imperius Curse.

It hadn’t been very well received.

“We’re _fighting_ Dark Magic,” said Ginny Weasley dubiously. “Do we really want to use it? Isn’t that one of the whole points of this war?”

“In this case, I think that we should use it,” you said. “It doesn’t even harm them.”

Neville glanced at you, but he didn’t say anything _—_ he had only kept quiet and let the discussion unfold, looking thoughtful.

“That sounds a lot like you’re saying the ends justify the means. I don’t know, Y/N, that seems like it could be a slippery slope,” said Ernie, who was frowning deeply.

“I’m saying that we have to evaluate on a case by case basis,” you argued heatedly. “And seeing as more harm will happen if we don’t get those kids out, I think in this case it’s justified, yes.”

“She has a point,” said Parvati Patil, and you wanted to hug her.

“Neville?” Ginny had said, and everyone had looked to him.

“I think,” said Neville carefully, “That for now, with the Carrows being gone, we can’t do it anyway. But it’s worth considering and keeping in the back of our mind for when they return if we haven’t found anything useful on their security measures yet.”

But as the break dragged on the Carrows continued not to arrive, and the group continued not to find anything useful about spells that created a barrier and caused people to explode. Every day, multiple times, you went to the dungeon where they were being held, but it was pointless. You couldn’t speak with them, or see them. You couldn’t go too close and open the door.

Still, you were grateful for all the distraction and research, because otherwise you might have gone mad worrying about Draco at home. Interestingly, the other main distraction became none other than Pansy herself, who seemed to have adopted you as an impromptu drinking buddy.

More often than not, she would appear after DA meetings or find you some time in the evening, rudely demand you come to Head Tower with her, and the two of you would get nice and drunk before she would either walk you back or, what was often the case, you fell asleep right there on the couch, waking in the morning with a dry mouth, raging headache, and regret, until Pansy supplied you with a Hangover Potion to take the edge off.

On the Sunday that the other students were to return, you woke feelingboth terrified and relieved.

You weren’t quite sure what you would do if Draco simply didn’t show.

Multiple times that day, Hannah asked you if you were alright while you researched and studied, because your arms were always shaking and you couldn’t stop fidgeting. “Don’t feel well,” was all you murmured, eyes itching to the clock for the fortieth time in two minutes.

You weren’t hungry. Over the last two weeks, you had barely picked at your food; Hannah had even taken notice and had begun putting more food on your plate during meals.

In fact, you were so afraid that eating tonight might make you sick from all the nervous anticipation—would the Carrows be back? If so, what would the DA decide to do about the first years? Would Draco be back safe and relatively unharmed?—that you opted to skip dinner before the DA meeting, though you hovered in a corridor near the Great Hall, peeking around the corner and just waiting for the students to arrive from the Hogwarts Express that evening.

Just to see him. To catch a glimpse and make sure he was alive and here.

When the group entered, you spotted the tall, blonde head quickly, toward the back, and you leaned on the wall, steadying yourself due to the dizzy wave of relief. You also caught sight of Pansy hurrying toward him in long strides across the hall, but that was all before you turned and began heading up to your alcove to be alone, still feeling incredibly sick.

You weren’t sure why you had retreated to the alcove tonight. You had spent so little time here this year. But for whatever reason, you couldn’t bring yourself to face a meal with all the students. Not tonight. When you stepped out roughly an hour later, you halted immediately and your legs turned to jelly when you saw Draco leaning against the opposite wall.

His face flooded with palpable relief, and he straightened up.

“Oh. Draco,” you said, blinking rapidly. “How long have you been waiting?”

“Only about ten minutes,” he said. “I _—_ wasn’t sure you were here, but I hoped. I didn’t see you at dinner, so…” He took a few steps forward, his face careful and cautious as he observed you.

Now he was close enough for you to _really_ see his face, and you saw that his eyes had circles underneath and stress creases on the edges _—_ creases of worry and anxiety. And the dark circles under his eyes, and how they were slightly bloodshot. In fact, the trauma of the two weeks was so clearly written on his face that you had to physically restrain from letting out a small little gasp. You tried not to notice the mannerisms that demonstrated damage, like the strange way he was standing there. That he was slightly hunched, like he was always cowering. That you could see his hands vibrating at his sides. Or that he did a minuscule little flinch at the faintest sounds, like the sounds of your feet scraping on the floor when you walked forward.

You wanted to hug him, but resisted. Instead, you just took another tentative step forward. “What did he do to you?” Your voice wavered. “Are you all right?”

"I will be,” he said quietly. He was still studying you very intently, eyes ranging about, you realized, for any signs of damage on _you_. “Are you? I know the Carrows have been gone, but _—_ _”_

“Yes,” you said. “Do you know where they are?”

“No,” he said, “But I know they’re doing something…unsavory.” He looked very pale. “For the Dark Lord. And I know that they will be back tomorrow evening, so no prefect meeting.”

You shuddered, and decided not to ask more questions about what that meant. “I’m just so relieved you’re back and all right.” Your eyes took him in again, and you tried to ignore your brain nastily telling you that he did not look what could be classified as ‘all right.’ You swallowed hard, and then said, “I’m so sorry we couldn’t get the First Years out yet. But we will. We _—_ _”_

“Y/N,” he said, looking pained. “That responsibility is not yours _._ I told you not to risk yourself.”

“I didn’t,” you said, very softly. “I was careful.” He was so close now. You considered touching his face, but again, you resisted, not wanting to make him uncomfortable.

He cleared his throat, and seemed suddenly very desperate to leave. His feet were shuffling, and he was now alternating glances between your face and his shoes. “I should probably go,” Draco muttered. “I just wanted to check and see if you were…okay.” His gaze paused on your face.

“Yes,” you said carefully. “I’m fine.”

He gave you a strained smile. “Good. Well…” He turned on his heel and took a few steps.

You decided to throw caution to the winds.

“Does the Carrows’ current task have to do with helping plan the distribution? Of the Halfbloods and the rest?”

You saw him pause mid-step, the line of his shoulders suddenly much more rigid, before he slowly turned to face you. You recognized his facial expression: it was carefully composed. “How do you know about that?” he asked, and there was a strained ripple of anger in his voice.

You swallowed, heart fluttering. “Pansy and I became drinking partners of sorts over break. She told me quite a lot of interesting things _._ ”

Something like vague panic flitted in his eyes, and then he pursed his lips, staring determinedly down at his feet again. “Oh? Such as?”

“Trying to figure out what I know so you can still keep the rest from me?” You hadn’t meant to sound so angry. He had been harmed badly over break. What you really wanted to do was hug him and make him feel better, but the tight, irritated feeling in your chest was growing irrationally.

Draco heaved a sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose before looking at you. You had expected him to look furious, but he just looked tired, and his eyes were softer than you’d been expecting. “Is it all right if I come in?” he gestured to the entrance to the alcove. “It’s better to talk inside.”

You nodded, mouth very dry and pulse rocketing along in your throat. “Sure.”

He hovered behind you as you performed the new spell to get in; and then Draco followed you inside, entering the alcove for the first time in roughly half a year.

Once there, you took a deep breath and spun to face Draco. He was lingering near the exit, looking uncertain, but you saw his eyes darting around. “You rearranged,” he finally commented quietly, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

“I needed a change.”

The air felt heavy when he glanced up at you. “Right,” he said, swallowing.

It felt strange to have him back here, even if you’d been using the alcove less this year anyway. You fought the nostalgia that was threatening to overwhelm you. Before you could speak, he said, “What did you and Pansy get to chatting about, then?”

“A lot of things,” you said, crossing your arms. “But I’d like to hear them from you.”

He glared down at his feet for a moment. “I’m going to murder her,” he muttered, before sighing and looking up, something distinctly like agony on his face. “I assume she told you about my Occulumency slip and how we tried to fix it?”

“Yes,” you said. “I wish you would have just _told_ me that Pansy wasn’t…real.”

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I just thought that it would make things feel more final. For us both. And that would make it easier for me to compartmentalize you and tuck you away.” He stopped and made a small, humorless sound in his throat, and then he smiled faintly. “But it didn’t quite work like that, you see,” he said softly. “You took root very deeply.”

It took a moment for you to find your voice. “Draco…”

“Thankfully,” he continued, determinedly cutting you off, “The Dark Lord was distracted by other…methods of showing his grievances with me over break.” You made a little indignant sound when you saw him do a shudder that he was clearly trying to contain, how his hands trembled briefly at his sides like he was fighting off a waking nightmare; your hands also actually twitched at your sides with your longing to run forward touch him.

He watched you carefully for a few seconds with a deep frown before speaking. “So the Dark Lord did not do any excessive rifling in my mind over this break,” he finished. “For the Legilimency he _did_ perform I was able to keep my Occulumency intact. You are safe from that particular problem. For now. I am very sorry that any association with me last year has made this a problem.” He looked pained. “I promise that I am doing my best to—to contain it.”

"Oh,” was all you could think to say. “That’s not what I…I’m just…so glad you’re all right. I was so…” You stopped, choking on a sob. _Worried_ did not even begin to cover it. “I wasn’t worried about me,” you clarified, fighting the sudden urge to cry.

His gray eyes suddenly blazed with a bit more warmth. “You never really are, are you?” he sighed.

And then he opened his arms; a silent invitation. With a little whimper, you closed the remaining distance and wrapped your arms around him, though carefully, half afraid you’d hurt him. He seemed much more fragile than usual. But he pulled you against him tightly, holding you there a while before leaning back to look at you very seriously, brushing some hair from your face. “I also should have been more consistent. Should have stayed away more. I was…selfish.”

“I miss you,” you offered, in a small, trembling voice.

You saw something flash in his eyes before he quickly lifted them to the ceiling and away from your face, lips pursed. “You always look away,” you noted, feeling hurt.

“Stop,” he said, voice hoarse. “ _Stop_. Don’t make this harder.”

“I’m not doing anything!” you said heatedly. “If you don’t want to reject me, then don’t!”

“Merlin,” he growled, turning his gaze downward again and glaring at you very furiously. “I thought you’d be pleased I’m trying to do the right thing, but you don’t make this easy, do you?” You had frozen, watching as he became more agitated as he spoke; and then suddenly he was gripping your face, eyes intense, almost wild.

“Go into my head, Y/N,” he said, closing his eyes. “Please.”


	20. Nineteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yep. To make up for the cliffhanger, here is the next one already. Enjoy ;)
> 
> Warnings at the beginning again because bigger ones: language, mentions of violence, torture (physical and psychological) and trauma, angst, and (**!!) things take a smutty turn (see what I did there?). Rated E for explicit, its super adult, etc etc. I will not actively say which sexual acts happen, but acts happen and they are explicit lol. Be warned!

You were so shocked that you obeyed almost without hesitation, squeezing your eyes shut and dropping your guard, knowing the wall to Draco’s mind was down when you met no resistance. 

Just like with Pansy on the first night you drank, you were presented with a memory. Many memories, one right after another.

They were powerful, and tinged with a haunting sort of desperation.

And helplessness. There was quite a lot of that too.

And _rage_. So much rage.

The first memory was from last year.

There was still a slight twinge in Draco’s abdomen from his recent stay in the hospital from the Sectumsempra curse. But he couldn’t bring himself to care, because you were in his arms, and he was in your bed. 

He was feeling want and desire but also affection, a pure affection; his mind was almost blissfully hazy as he traced a pattern on your hip, and for the first time in weeks he was completely at ease. 

When your voice came, a tentative whisper, his hand froze and his brain went blank. “I love you,” you had said, and Draco felt something like panic.

_You shouldn’t_ , was his first thought, full of bitterness and that rage. _You shouldn’t. I have no idea how to love you properly._ _  
_

As he lay there, struggling with himself, you began quickly reassuring him that it was all right, that he didn’t have to say it, and that only made the feeling worse—t _oo good, far too good for me_ , _just say it back,_ _you fucking_ _coward_.

But it was in wild conflict with: _No, no, don’t make promises, you’ll mess up something. You’ll mess up the very best thing,_ _the only good thing_ _in your life…_

The scene swirled and changed.

You watched from Draco’s eyes as you broke up with him.

You felt his staggering fury and agony but also his bitter sense of inevitability. 

But it was brief, and you were already seeing a new memory. 

This time it was from this year, the very first night back at term; it was your argument in front of the tapestry just outside the alcove.

He was feeling desperation again, and an aching misery, the type that made one breathless, and also a fierce sort of determination. You heard his head clearly: _Lie, lie, lie, shut her down, shut it down now, you must_.

He noticed every time your face crumpled, but he couldn’t make it better. He could only lie, lie, lie. It was torture to have you look at him with something like distrust, or hear your disappointment with his actions that night on the Astronomy Tower, with Dumbledore, with the Death Eaters.

“You always left!” you accused him, eyes blazing but somehow still so _sad_ , and your arms were crossed defensively against your chest, turning away from him angrily, and something in his chest cracked and collapsed. He longed to say fuck it all, and to gather you close and say _not this time, I won’t this time, let me try again,_ _I’ll do it right this time,_ _please let me try again._

_Compartmentalize, no emotion, for once don’t be selfish,_ and then _—_

“Did you mean it?” you asked, stopping before you walked away.

_Compartmentalize—_

“Mean what?”

“The note,” you said, and it did not escape his notice how very vulnerable you looked, but all he could do was keep his face perfectly blank and clear his mind and—and _Merlin_ , his Occlumency was stellar.

Even deep within his memory, you were well aware that you had never progressed to a point where it felt like _this_ , so emotionless and detached, so composed and empty. It was frightening how empty it felt. Lonely. 

You watched your own face crumple in response to his going blank, and crumple even further at his answer. It wasn’t until you had turned around and fled down the corridor, not quite able to disguise the sobs, that he let the wall in his mind down, stalked over to the actual, physical wall, and kicked it hard, not caring how badly it hurt his foot and almost wishing it had broken his toe.

That familiar rage was back again—bitter, horrible rage.

He stormed toward the Head Dorm, furious with himself for not telling you last year when things were easier, furious with the world for not being fucking _normal_ , furious with himself and his family…

The scene changed again.

The new memories were faster, flitting by at an almost dizzying speed, but you got enough of them to get tastes: the underlying but palpable rage anytime he saw you with Terry, threatening to boil over at any moment; glimpses of times throughout the year and how much he watched you from afar: in classes, in the corridors, and the sense of anger, and longing, and desire, but also the resignation and sadness.

You saw the times you had been hurt or sad and felt his clear wish to touch you or hold you or kiss you. You got a glimpse of the days when you had been in your coma, and how he thought he might be going mad. You saw him conspiring with Susan about the key for Halloween, thinking it might help keep you safe if he also got involved, and that maybe it would also help protect Emma.

You saw yourself in the dress on Halloween, standing before him, felt every appreciative move of his eyeballs on your skin and how his brain stuttered. He was wishing he could see even more skin and trying very much _not_ to wish it until you touched his chest and looked at him and his self-control snapped.

When he kissed you he felt bliss and desire, but also an underlying sense of hopelessness and despair.

The size of his lust for you was staggering.

You’d thought you had it bad, wanting him, having that dream, but Draco…

He _did_ seem to be half mad from it. 

It was both pure and impure. He wanted to show what you meant to him and take you slowly and kiss you and caress you in his bed; he _also_ wanted to tear your clothes off and drive into you on any surface. You felt very clearly how he wanted you to writhe and squirm and scream underneath him and make you come so many times you lost count. He wanted to make you come being inside you. With his tongue. His fingers. He didn’t care. He just wanted it over and over and over, imagined it at least a hundred different ways—

Later that same night, the familiar simmering rage and bitterness was back as he danced with Pansy at the ball. She was looking up at him with a knowing look, and then she said quietly, “You know what you have to do, Draco.”

And he did. The fury of it being this way nearly blinded him. 

But people were beginning to talk. He had heard whispers in the corridors questioning whether he and Pansy were a couple. And it couldn’t be a question. Everyone had to believe it. So he kissed her, and he hated it.

There was _so_ _much_ rage in him.

It was also present on the Astronomy Tower, when he told you that his future was Pansy. The bitter irony made him want to shake something when you had said that you took him as the monogamous type. He wanted to grab his hair and yell in his frustration, _Yes! I’m yours_ — _you have no idea just how dedicated I am, do you?_

You were in his head as he rejected you the night right before break. He hated himself, was furious about it all, but what else could he have done? If he’d had a memory of you saying you loved him again he’d never be able to shove it down in time. So he had to cut the words, make it negative, and be cruel, and lie, lie, lie—

Suddenly, you felt the wall crash back into place. With a gasp, staggering slightly from the powerful force of it all, you were out of his mind.

For a long moment, you just stared up at him, mouth slightly open.

His gray eyes were blazing and almost wild.

“I—Draco, I didn’t know just how much—” you began, but he stepped forward and cut you off with his lips on yours.

You could feel his desperation. It was powerful and obvious, but also reserved. Repressed. The kiss itself was exceedingly gentle and slow; his fingers grazed across your jaw and his thumbs stroked your cheekbones. 

It was also brief, and when he pulled away he kept his eyes closed a moment longer than you, so when you opened yours you saw the rawness on his face.

Draco opened his eyes to stare down at you. “I know,” he said. “But now you do. Now you know that what I _want_ ,” he continued, rather furiously, “Is to whisk you out of this castle and this country and run away from all of it so nothing can hurt you _ever_ _again_. But I can’t do that to my family, I’m quite certain you won’t abandon the fight, and you’d be unsafe with me anyway, because of my Mark. They’d track me. So the only option is to stay and try to keep you alive, isn’t it? Unless I could somehow convince _you_ to flee until it’s all over?”

“No,” you argued, narrowing your eyes at him. “It’s _not_! I’m not going anywhere, obviously, and we can also try and keep _each_ _other_ alive, Draco! The next break isn’t for ages. Not until Easter. We can be—we can—”

He cut you off. “Did you not just feel the memories? How powerful they were? Even the older ones were too potent, weren’t they?” He pulled away and his eyes flashed—he suddenly looked positively livid, and he had begun to shake. You remembered the taste of his rage in his memories, so helpless and powerful, and now you saw it so very clearly on his face. Seeing him like this was—painful. 

“Can you imagine what would happen if we kept making newer ones, seeing each other in secret?” he pressed. “I’d never be able to shove them all down. It doesn’t matter how long I have to do it. That’s why I showed you. So you’d understand.”

“I don’t care if he finds me in your mind,” you said, setting your jaw. “Let him.”

“Well I very much _do_ ,” Draco snapped, glaring.

You both stared defiantly at each other for a long time.

And then Draco heaved a deep, shuddering sigh, closing his eyes for a long moment before opening them to look at you, appearing noticeably subdued. And then he took your face in his hands again.

“Y/N,” he said, eyes very intent, “You felt what I feel. You know that if the world were normal—or maybe one day when it is—the first thing I would do is come to you and beg you to give me another chance so I can try and be with you properly.” His shoulders slumped. “Not that I really deserve it. But that’s just…not how things are right now. That’s not how things can be.”

Your voice wavered. “But I’ve missed you so much.”

His eyes flickered. “That’s—it’s not that I—” he began, sounding very strangled, but you cut him off by standing on your tiptoes and pressing your lips to his.

Draco only let it last a few moments before he drew away from your mouth with a ragged gasp. You could feel his chest heaving rapidly under your fingers. “Y/N,” he said, sounding hoarse, and he backed away several paces. “We can’t. I can’t, all right? Don’t make me be the one to have to say no. And if I say yes, I also am the one with the responsibility of hiding you in my mind. Please. Please don’t put all of this on me. I can’t—handle all of this right now. You felt that too.”

You felt your heart twist and shatter at the thought of finding him and losing him again all in one night. But you just gazed at him steadily, at his tired eyes and the lines of trauma in his face, and you felt a rush of affection and sympathy.

“I know,” you said, voice wavering only a little as you nodded slowly. “I understand. I really do. Just—don’t you think we can have one good thing in all this, Draco? Just one?”

Draco sighed, brow furrowed. “Not if it risks you,” he answered steadily.

You swallowed with great difficulty, voice getting a little shriller with nerves. “I know. I’m not suggesting we get together. I’m not trying to push. I—I just want us to maybe—um…” You felt your face get even warmer, and you took a deep breath. “Well—spend a night together.”

Draco suddenly looked like he had been hit in the head with a Bludger, and he just stared at you for a long moment, blinking rapidly and mouth hanging open.

You started rambling nervously. “Just once,” you rushed to say, “If that’s—if you’re okay with that. I’ve just—wanted you for a while and I thought…” Your cheeks were positively flaming now, so you closed your mouth and broke your gaze from his dumbfounded one to stare down at your feet, trying to ignore how painfully your heart was pounding and already regretting saying anything at all.

It was silent a moment. And then—

“ _Have_ you now?”

The tone of Draco’s voice—a possessive sort of growl—made your head snap up to look at him, eyes wide. You’d never heard him speak quite like that before.

The look on his face was almost feral. His eyes had darkened and he was looking at you like he wanted to pick you up and throw you against something. Your heart picked up even more speed and and you opened your mouth to answer, but then he took a purposeful step forward, and you faltered, all the breath exited your lungs. You couldn’t breathe. Or think.

So you just nodded, a little faintly.

He took another step.

You felt your brain sliding away.

Another step brought him close enough to take your jaw in his hands. The air between you was crackling. It was impossible to draw air. He leaned forward, his mouth mere inches from yours, and you just stared, legs like jelly. “You’re going to kill me, you know,” Draco said, moving one hand along your jaw and up to your cheekbone, swiping over it once with his thumb. “I’m convinced.”

“What?” Your voice sounded far too breathy.

“Do you think I have endless self-control?” He appeared suddenly amused.

“It seems like it sometimes.” You were very aware of how close his mouth was. It was a miracle you had even gotten the sentence out at all.

He let out a small, disbelieving scoff. “Well, I don’t.” His eyes were still scanning you as if he wanted to devour you and you contained a shiver. You felt heat rush to every inch of your skin. “I know you’re aware of that now. You know everything I want to do to you. Don’t you?” His voice had gone deeper and he was using that tone again that made your brain lag and then freeze. There was something deeply seductive and masculine and intoxicating about it.

Your throat was so dry you couldn’t speak. Not that you really had anything to say. Your brain had begun sliding away even more rapidly.

But then he sighed very quietly, and his eyes looked suddenly rather regretful. “I won’t sleep with you as a one off, Y/N. That’s not how I want it to be.”

You blinked a few times. “Oh,” you whispered, nodding quickly and trying to ignore the sting of rejection. It wasn’t _exactly_ rejection, of course. You knew he wanted you. You’d felt plenty of that. But still. “Okay. Of course. I understand.”

Draco’s lips suddenly curved upward; he was so close that you felt them move against your own. And then he dipped his head down to kiss your neck. His mouth came to your ear, and one of his hands came to your hip, and he said, his voice still a seductive, dark purr, “But I _will_ make you come.”

Your mind went entirely blank. 

He nuzzled your neck, and you gripped harder at his shoulders for support and tried not to topple over. “You—you’re going to—” you stuttered.

“Touch you. Get you off. Yes,” Draco said casually, pressing his lips into a particularly sensitive spot on your neck and this time really making you shiver as tingles shot from the spot all the way through to your toes.

His hands came to your waist and pushed you backward against the wall. His body was warm and hard against yours, locking you in place. When he took your wrists in his hands and pinned them above your head before continuing his pattern of kisses along your neck and jaw, you let out a strangled little gasp and clenched your thighs together. Part of you wondered if this was another dream.

“Assuming you want that?” 

His voice was still so husky. Just the sound of it made you throb. And your head was spinning. You just stared up at him, rather dazed. 

“Say it,” said Draco, dropping your wrists and slowly dragging his hand along your throat, eyes grazing your face intently.

“Y-yes,” you managed to get out.

Draco’s eyes moved down until he was staring at your mouth, and you felt your stomach do flips at the look on his face. “Good,” he said finally, his eyes blazing with want, and then he dipped his head to kiss you.

His kisses were like fire this time. Not gentle, not controlled, but frenzied. You felt them in your very veins, an inferno licking over your skin and moving to pool below your abdomen. With one hand his fingers caressed your neck, careful but just possessive enough to send a thrill of anticipation and arousal through every nerve ending, and the other reached up to tangle in your hair.

The hand in your hair suddenly pulled, not hard enough to be painful but enough to expose the full column of your neck, and he bent to move his lips across it. Even the faint tickle of air against your skin between kisses as his mouth trailed along your neck was making you tremble and your legs weak.

Draco pushed you even harder against the wall with his hips and his mouth was back on yours, his tongue darting out. You parted your lips, sighing when he delved into your mouth. Just the right amount; teasing your tongue and lips with his, making your heart flutter. When you also deepened the kiss, pushing your tongue back, he let out another low sound in his throat: approval.

You pulled at his hair and molded yourself closer against him. Nothing felt close enough. You could already feel the hard curve of him against your thigh. You’d felt him like this before, last year, but that was all. You’d never touched him. You’d never felt more. You arched your back, trying to create more friction, eliciting a masculine groan from him into your mouth. The sound went straight to your core.

“Draco,” you panted against his mouth, nearly breathless, “ _Draco_ , what about you, can I—can I—”

“Focus on you,” he muttered, pulling back to glance at you. His eyes were completely glazed over.

Before you could argue, he cradled your face in one palm before giving you another bruising kiss. His other hand slid down your throat again and down your body before coming around and running up your spine. You arched further into his hands, fists bunching his shirt and pulling him closer, trying to crush the length of his body against yours as much as possible.

Your hands moved to untuck his shirt and slide underneath to his pale skin, over his abdomen. He froze just momentarily under your touch, and your eyes flew open, not missing the way he flinched.

Immediately you began to withdraw, feeling horrified. “Sorry! So sorry, I—”

His fingers reached down to snatch your hands, and he squeezed. “Don’t be. It’s just—I’m not quite—myself yet. After—” He had begun to shake a little again, and horror welled up in you.

“What happened to you?” you whispered. “Draco, how bad was it?”

Draco flinched yet again, but then he opened his eyes and gave you a tired smile, eyes still dilated and full of want as they flicked over your face. “Bad,” he said finally, very quietly. “But it’s okay. My senses are just…a little off.”

You chewed on your bottom lip, concerned. “Should we stop?”

Draco’s eyes flew down to your mouth again. “No,” he said determinedly, his grip tightening momentarily on your hands before releasing them and bringing his up to touch your face. “Just maybe—if you could try not to move too suddenly when you touch me—”

“Of course,” you said, watching him with wide eyes.

Draco smiled a little at the look of concern on your face. “Stop worrying, love,” he murmured, and then he kissed you once more.

It was slow again at first. But then his mouth on yours became even more desperate. You ran your fingers over him carefully but still greedily, over every inch of skin on his torso, every scar.

Heart pounding nervously in your throat, you slowly slid your hand below his belt and experimentally ran your hand over the hard bulge in his trousers. Draco’s entire body stiffened, though he wasn’t flinching this time, and he dropped his head into the crook of your neck. “Wait,” he commanded, voice more breathless than before but still husky and possessive. “Wait.”

And then he snatched your wrists again, this time with one hand, pinned them up out of the way over your head, and proceeded to kiss you into a senseless stupor. After another few moments of his tongue intertwining with yours and gentle nips along your lips, he slowly began sliding one of his hands up your shirt and onto your stomach. You squirmed harder, gasping against his mouth.

His hands moved up to cup your bra and you arched your back, rolling your hips, and his erection hit you just where it felt like every nerve in your body was concentrated—

“ _Oh_ —” you gasped, pressing into him further.

“You’re so fucking perfect,” Draco growled against your mouth, dropping your wrists again and using the free hand to lightly pull your hair again so you had to look up at him. His eyes were onyx. “Want to make you come so hard. I wish I could do it every day. Over and over.”

_Merlin_. Your brain wasn’t functioning properly. It was only half aware, and the half that _was_ aware was fully consumed by lust. 

It wasn’t fair how attractive he was. How he talked to you or stared at you. He was just so _intense_. It was astounding how expressive Draco’s eyes could be. It was no wonder they always went so blank when he had to shut himself away over this year, when he had to show no emotion. If you had seen his eyes like this you would have immediately known exactly how he felt.

His cheeks were flushed, his hair was a mess, and his shirt was tucked out of his trousers, showing just the slightest shiver of his pale abdomen underneath.

“You’re perfect, too,” you told him, slowly reaching out to place your palms on his chest, heart at a full sprint now. His eyes flashed with a predatory sort of want and then he kissed you, hard.

One of his hands still caressed you under your shirt, running his hands over your stomach and breasts and sides slowly, reverently, making sure you were writhing again before both his hands came to your trousers to undo the buttons, pulling them over your hips, and bringing his hands back up to your rib cage. 

Your chest was heaving from your staggered breathing, and you felt the tingles of anticipation again; running up your arms, shooting down to your toes, sliding up your spine. You could feel the heat and the ache between your thighs. The tension there was already coiling, tighter and tighter.

His hands were hot, moving on your skin. He moved slowly, his mouth on your collarbone, sucking and licking and—and you might die from the sensations and the want and the tension. And that would be fine. You wouldn’t even care.

You made a desperate little noise and pulled him closer by his collar, running your hand over his abs again and up over his chest, fingernails digging in slightly as his hand moved lower and lower.

But he went off to the side first. Out to your hip, and then ducked a little to trace your knee cap, and then you realized he was smiling against your mouth.

“ _Tease_ ,” you accused him, trying to sound strict and failing.

He chuckled quietly, starting to feather his hand up your thigh. You wriggled against him, nervous and desperate for more all at once. He would feel it right through the fabric, how wet you were. You weren’t sure how you felt about that. Mostly good. You were too far gone to care about to much of anything anyway.

You decided to give him a taste of his own medicine and also started unbuttoning his trousers, pulling them down, but when you went to touch him through the much thinner material of his boxers, thrilling with curiosity, one of his hands flew out to catch your wrist again and guide it away. 

“I said _wait_ , love,” he ordered, sounding a little ragged.

He then moved to drag his tongue along your collarbone and kiss your neck before returning to your lips. Your hands twisted in his hair and his hand moved higher and higher, nudging your thighs apart.

You were shaking. Your thighs were trembling the worst, but the tremors were in your whole body. It was a good thing he had you pressed so firmly into the wall.

You stifled a whimper into his shoulder when he finally traced a finger over the damp cloth of your knickers. He lightly moved his finger like this a few times, and your grip got tighter and tighter on his shoulders as you tried to maintain your control; and then he pressed his thumb harder into the fabric right _there_ , _finally_ —

“ _Oh_ ,” you whispered hoarsely, muscles tensing from pure sensation.

Draco let out another of those growling sounds from deep in his chest that drove you almost to madness. You started fumbling with his shirt buttons so you could push it off his shoulders without breaking the pattern of his mouth on yours, but you only made it halfway before he slid his hand into your waist band.

Your entire body tensed even more and he paused, his warm hand hovering on your pelvis. “Is this okay?” he murmured against your lips, dipping momentarily to nuzzle into your neck before coming back to kiss you very gently. You just nodded.

One of Draco’s hands ran along your jaw and your cheek and tangled in your hair, and the other hand moved lower until it brushed your bare, swollen clit.

It was like a little pulse of electricity jolted through your entire body. Your muscles were both entirely too tight and somehow also felt like mush. All heat and sensation felt like it was between your legs. Everything was tingling. All you could think of was _more_ , _more, more._ It was— _incredible_.

“ _Yes_. There,” you begged, still shaking, fumbling to touch his exposed skin.

But his hand moved a teasing line down your slit with his finger and back up. You let out a ragged gasp, thrashing a little against him. 

“You’re so wet,” he groaned, sounding almost awed.

You couldn’t respond. You were incoherent.

His hand drifted back up to rub circles. Slow, torturous strokes. Your eyes had been squeezed shut, but when you opened them to up at him, breathing hard, you saw that his pupils were blown wide, watching your every move. The intensity and desire in his gaze made you shake harder. His hand moved lower, grazing your opening, and you went rigid, full of anticipation, nervous and desperate for him all at once.

“Do you want to try that?” he asked, voice low, forehead pressing against yours.

“Yes,” you replied, nodding. “Just—um—”

“I’ll be careful,” he promised softly. “Try and relax.”

How, exactly, were you supposed to relax when you’d never felt more tense in your life? Every muscle in your body felt tense. Your clit was throbbing. There was a burning need between your legs. You were so tightly wound you thought you might shatter. But you tried not to hold your breath as he started to slide his finger in. He moved very slowly, giving you time to adjust and relax, his lips rough on yours.

It was uncomfortable, at first. Even though you were very slick and ready, it felt like too much. Draco seemed to sense this, because he stopped when he must have felt your inner muscles tense around him too tightly or felt you gasp quietly against his mouth, and he waited to move until you had relaxed again. Once he was all the way in, he cursed under his breath and his other hand came to drag down your throat, his lips on your jaw. “ _Merlin_ ,” he muttered into your skin. “You’re perfect.”

You had not been expecting it to affect him quite as much, but it certainly was. When he pulled back slightly to stare at your face again, his eyes were the darkest you’d ever seen them and he looked almost drunk.

He started with a slow rhythm until your hips were squirming again. It was starting to feel good. More than good. The heel of his hand pressed against your clit, his finger pumping with more speed, and you smothered your choked sound of pleasure into his chest. When his thumb began to rub circles again, the movement of his finger driving you up, higher and higher, you started to writhe, bucking your hips, only able to think _more, more more_ —

“Open your eyes,” you heard him murmur, as if from far away.

You hadn’t even realized you had them closed. When they flew open he was hovering close, watching your face with hooded eyes.

“You’re perfect,” Draco repeated, his voice deep and like silk again. “So perfect. You feel so good around me.”

He pumped his fingers and rubbed his thumb faster, and then he curved his finger at an angle along your inner walls and you suddenly saw stars. 

“Oh—oh my god—” you whimpered, contracting and arching into him. 

Your whole body went limp and his free hand came up to steady you, gathering you closer and holding you up.

All the sensations and the buildup pooled and shattered. Your vision blurred. You felt like you were floating. All you could do was gasp into his mouth, which had come to capture yours, and clutch blindly to him as pleasure crashed up your spine and through what felt like every nerve in your body. When it finally subsided you felt weak and slumped further against him, breathing like you had just run for miles.

You felt Draco withdraw and both his hands came to your sides under your shirt, holding you in place, still pinned against him. You weren’t complaining. You let him hold you steady and pull you closer and press his face into the side of your neck.

After a while his fingers came to your arms, rubbing slow, easy patterns, and it was quiet while you caught your breath. Then he began kissing your cheeks. Across your forehead. Along your jaw. One hand trailed up and touched your face, and just like on your arms he moved them in soothing patterns. 

When you finally opened your eyes, his gaze was on your face.

He smiled a little, eyes still dark. “This was probably a colossal mistake,” he said, half teasing, though his eyes had something like sadness in them. He pressed his forehead to yours. “Now all I’ll ever want to do is seduce you again.”

“You wouldn’t hear any complaints from me,” you said, pointedly reaching for the bulge in his trousers again, though slowly.

It was his turn. You wanted to make him feel like that too.

But to your surprise, he stopped you by taking your wrist again. He sighed.

“I want to.” His mouth twitched. “You know that. It’s just that I—I don’t think I would be able to enjoy it like I usually could.” He looked regretful. “I—still half expect pain a lot of the time when I have my senses about me, especially touch, so…I—I don’t want it to ruin this. With you.” He smiled again, suddenly looking a little triumphant, but something dark and horrible still lingered in his eyes.

Your eyes got wide. “Draco,” you choked, “I’m so worried. Please tell me what happened to you. Or show me. Maybe I can help you.”

“No,” he said, pursing his lips. “You’re not seeing it.”

You were quiet a moment. “Okay,” you said. “Do you want to—talk about it?”

He was silent, brow furrowing, and then his arms came to your waist and he picked you up. You wrapped your legs around him and let him carry you over to the corner with your blankets, where you had often read to each other last year, and then he settled carefully down, pulling you into his lap. He still didn’t speak; he just buried his face in your hair, and it was silent so long that you expected him to brush off your question. But then he finally murmured, “I was put into a very dark room. I couldn’t see or hear or—or anything. Just bare walls. It was very small. That’s where I was, most of the time. Complete sensory deprivation. I was only taken out to be tortured. So anytime someone came in to fetch me and touched me, and I could see again, I knew to expect—pain. Mostly Cruciatus. Except one time, my aunt Bella—” He stopped. You felt him shaking, and you pressed yourself closer, moving your hands to very slowly and carefully stroke his hair.

“What?” you whispered. 

The horror you felt was unmatched by anything you’d felt so far. But you were also furious. You tried to sound calm, however, knowing it was what Draco needed.

“Well, she’s…fond of her magical methods, but also of her knives,” he mumbled, sounding a little faint, and your stomach rolled. “And my back hadn’t healed yet, so she thought she could…teach me a lesson. Not to shame the family.”

“I will never let that happen to you again,” you said fiercely, vibrating with rage. The words came spilling out without a thought. “Not ever.”

Draco didn’t reply; he just pulled you closer to his chest and you listened to his heartbeat and tried not to plan how you could bring a horrible demise to everyone that had hurt him. The Carrows. Bellatrix Lestrange. The Dark Lord.

“As I said, let’s not taint this,” said Draco finally, sounding considerably lighter, fingers trailing on your neck and through your hair. “Our memory.” You felt the smile in his voice, which had become a lilting tease. “So, why don’t you start by telling me how long you’ve wanted me?”

You smiled into his shoulder, relaxing a little. “Shut up.”

“Oh come on, Y/N, give me a little ego boost. Here I thought for so long that I was the only one lusting after you.”

“Months.” You leaned back to look at him and saw that his eyes were glimmering with smug amusement and he looked much more relaxed, a lazy smile on his face. “Happy?”

He gave you a mischievous grin. “Very. Well, mostly. I just wish we had more time.”

You refrained from saying that you very well _could_ have more time. 

He didn’t want to hear that again, and you refused to put more burden or stress on him. He must have seen your smile falter, however, because he cupped your cheek. “I love you,” he said quietly.

“I love you too,” you told him. “Never stopped.”

His arms tightened their hold on you. “It wouldn’t be fair of me to expect you to wait around.” He sounded hesitant, and there was a ripple of bitterness in his voice that made you frown at him. Draco just sighed, pushing some hair from your face. “If you’re available after the war,” he said softly. “I told you what I’d do. But I’m not saying I expect you not to date others in the meantime or—or anything like that.” He looked miserable but determined. “Don’t hold back.”

You blinked. “Draco, did you go temporarily deaf when I told you I love you just now? Are _you_ planning on dating others?”

A small smile ghosted across his face. “No. As you saw, you were right. I’m the monogamous sort. You’re it for me, Y/N. I’m yours unless you ask me not to be. Actually, I suspect I would be even then.”

Exasperated, you snuggled back closer to him again. “Well it’s the same for me, you dolt.”

You felt his chest move a little as he laughed, and then brought his hand to your chin, tilted your head up, and kissed you. Slowly and languorously. He pulled away slightly to mutter, “Did I mention how perfect you are?”

You couldn’t believe you felt another twinge between your legs already. Your face flamed, but you couldn’t tuck your head down because he was still holding it in his hand. “Just a few times, I think” you teased, smiling nervously and heart fluttering at the look that had come over his face.

Draco’s voice was like silk again. “Good. Because you are.” He kissed you again before you suddenly drew away with a little gasp, eyes flying open.

“Shit!”

“What?” His grip became like iron, and he instantly looked alarmed.

“Sorry, it’s okay—it’s just, there’s a D.A meeting! I’m already late— _shit_!” you fretted, starting to shift to stand. “I’m sorry,” you said regretfully. “I need to go.”

Draco just nodded briefly and started to stand as well. When you were both on your feet, you stared at each other for a long moment before he bowed his head to yours, and this time his lips on yours were desperate again, and you knew why.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, when you broke apart. “We have to stay away after this. Just remember that I don’t like it either. I’m sorry.”

You refused to let tears fall. It wasn’t the end. Not really. 

It was sad and horrible and unfair, but at least you knew everything now. And if this helped Draco, that’s all that mattered. You’d keep him alive and you’d make it through the war because other alternatives were unthinkable. “I know. I’m sad, too,” you told him, very gently touching his face, still slow and careful. “But we’ll be okay.”

“Come on,” he said, taking your hand. “I’ll walk you to your meeting.”

He pulled you out into the corridor, and you tried not to think about when the next time would be that he could come back to your alcove.

Or if he could ever come back at all.

_I’ll keep him alive_ , you thought fiercely. _We’ll make it. We will._

…

Pansy Parkinson was sitting primly on her couch and drinking tea when the portrait hole slammed open. She glanced over, unfazed, at Draco standing there, chest heaving, glaring at her, fists clenched at his sides.

She noted, with some smug satisfaction, that he was very flushed and his hair was a mess. He had also not buttoned his shirt correctly, and it remained very much not tucked in his trousers.

“Oh, hello Draco,” said Pansy, smirking. “You look like you’ve been busy.”

“I’m going to fucking kill you Pansy,” he growled, striding forward and towering over her. She only took a sip of her tea, raising her eyebrows at him over the cup.

“Unlikely,” she said. “But if you actually get the stones to do it, at least tell me why first.”

She could practically hear him gritting his teeth. Good. Sometimes riling Draco up was just fun, but he was also a lot less depressed when he was angry at her, and when he was less depressed he wasn’t doing stupid things like downing Calming Concoction by the vial.

Pansy also suspected that he would be a lot less depressed if he was off getting snogged or laid every once in a while, and judging by his current unruly and rather flustered appearance, _something_ along those lines had just happened.

Though judging by his anger, it also hadn’t ended well.

Pansy sighed inwardly. Probably Draco’s own doing, as usual.

“You know exactly why,” he snarled. “Why the fuck did you tell her? Do you have any idea how hard it was for me to say no this time with her knowing?”

“Well,” said Pansy, setting the tea down and shrugging casually, “Perhaps you just shouldn’t have said no.”

“Do you enjoy torturing me, Pansy?” Draco asked, flopping onto the couch in a mess of limbs with a helpless groan. “Is that it? Are you still angry at me over some past thing and are punishing me endlessly for it?”

“No, you melodramatic loon,” sniffed Pansy. “Here Draco, have some tea and calm down.” She waved her wand, and the kettle and a cup zoomed over and began pouring him some tea. “Believe it or not, I don’t want you to be miserable and am just trying to get you out of your own way. _And_ you’re insufferable when you’re miserable, so you’re making my living space hell. You didn’t actually want her to think you’re with me, Draco. You were miserable, she was miserable, and it was giving _me_ secondhand misery just being around it all. Relax, would you?”

“ _Relax_?” 

Draco set his untouched tea down before he stood up and abruptly started pacing the room. Pansy watched him go back and forth with one perfectly arched brow, knowing he would calm down eventually. 

“I don’t know if I’ve ever wanted to hex you so badly in my entire life,” Draco finally said to her, his expression dark as he threw her a very dirty glare.

“And yet I think you’re also secretly very glad she knows, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” he snarled, throwing her a wild look of misery before continuing his furious pacing in front of the fireplace.

“I don’t quite understand,” said Pansy lightly, “why this is so difficult to fathom, Draco. We’re all very proud of you for this noble protective streak, you’ve come a long way, blah, blah, but at this point, just let it happen. _Merlin_. What does she have to do to change your mind, beg you to fuck her?”

He stopped short. 

Pansy saw his eyes glaze before they returned to normal and he turned to look at her, eyes now blazing with fury. “Shut up, Pansy, or I _will_ curse you. I mean it.”

Pansy took a long, slow sip of her tea, watching how Draco’s body had begun to vibrate and how he squeezed his eyes shut, almost looking as though he were in physical pain. Pansy felt a sudden wave of sympathy, and as she set her tea down again, her voice became gentler.

“Draco, you’ve said the memories don’t lose their potency anyway. So what does it matter if there are more? And isn’t the whole reason your Occlumency was doing poorly over the summer was because you were ‘emotionally compromised’? Maybe if you were actually a little bit happy sometimes, it would be _easier_.” She took another sip of her tea and sighed, noting that he had buried his face in his hands. “Have you ever thought that maybe she’s clever enough to know what she’s getting into with you, and you’re being a right arse by not letting her have any say?” She raised her eyebrows. “I mean, sure, try and push it all off if you like. It’s not going to work. You two are a ticking time bomb, as far as I can tell.”

Draco looked up and just gaped at her for a long moment, blinking rapidly. Pansy thought that maybe—just maybe—she thought she saw a hint of acceptance flash across his eyes; that maybe, perhaps, he had seen her point.

If so, he didn’t address it. 

He only sneered at her, eyes like ice, and said, “Why don’t you talk about yourself for once, Pans? Why don’t you talk to _me_ about _your_ big relationship last year?”

He was giving her a knowing look, and Pansy arranged a bored look on her face.

“That’s not relevant,” she said.

Draco looked incredulous. “What the hell do you mean, ‘it’s not relevant’? You’ve been absolutely miserable!”

“No I haven’t,” said Pansy haughtily, holding her head high. “I’ve been very busy and I’m fucking Blaise, as you very well know, which is keeping me perfectly satisfied.” She sighed dramatically. “Be glad about that, too, because if you think I’m a raging bitch _now_ , then imagine what I’d be like without regular sex in my life. I couldn’t remain celibate like you, Draco. What a disaster.”

“God, shut up,” Draco muttered, rubbing angrily at his temples. “It’s more than about sex, Pansy, which you very well know. You really _liked_ whoever it was. I know you. I could tell.” His eyes glinted. “Maybe I should find out? I could, you know. Then I can go to him and interfere, just like you’ve done to me.” He smirked at the fury that had crossed her face. “Not so fun when the tables are turned, is it?”

“He dumped me because he had to think I was with _you_!” she hissed.

“You’re lucky. You don’t have the danger of the Dark Lord finding him in your head, you could have kept on in secret,” said Draco, shrugging. “It’s not my fault that he didn’t believe that your feelings for me aren’t real.”

“I want to slap your stupid, pointed face,” she muttered, hating that she felt tears in her eyes.

“Pansy,” said Draco, his voice gentler now, “If you tell me who it is, maybe I can talk to him for you.”

“You think he’ll listen to you but not me?” Pansy said harshly. “Just shut up, Draco.”

There was a long silence. “I’m sorry, Pans,” he said. “I really am.”

“Yeah,” she said, hating that it sounded like she had a head cold from attempting to keep the tears back and that he was looking at her with concern now. “Me too.” Avoiding his eyes, she picked up her tea cup and took another long drink. When she was done, she said primly, “Well. I’ve had my say about your disastrous love life. And now I’d like to talk to you about something else.”

Draco looked wary. “What?”

Pansy’s eyes glinted. “My plan. For when the Carrows come back tomorrow.”


End file.
